


The Proper Way to End a Night of Drinking With Sherlock Holmes

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Love Confessions, M/M, More Sex, POV John Watson, Post-Season/Series 04, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, They're just so in love, Top John Watson, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-02 10:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14542488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: John doesn't move back into 221B again directly after it's repaired from Eurus blowing it up. One night, he finds himself missing his best friend and his old life; he invites Sherlock over for a drink and one thing leads to another and they're kissing. There's a smidge of angst and misunderstanding in the middle, but love confessions ensue the following morning and their lives turn out the way they've always been meant to be. Just some lovely fluff.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello darlings!
> 
> It's been a terribly long time since I've posted anything. I'm working on my Masters and I won't bore you with the details of my 60 hour work weeks. Suffice it to say, I've done some writing, but haven't done any editing (Sorry if you're reading one of my WIPs-I'll get back to them eventually). I quite liked this little drabble and thought I could get it up and posted in sort order, so hopefully this 2 chapter work will be up this week. 
> 
> As always, I edit my own work and mistakes belong only to me. Constructive criticism is always welcome and kind comments are always appreciated. :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this drabble!
> 
> Blessings

After Mary's death and all of the craziness that was Eurus, everyone (well, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft, anyway) had assumed that John would move back into 221B.  But that's not what had happened, even though John had been sorely tempted.  He missed living with his mad genius.  He missed the late nights and the madness, he missed the cases, the adrenaline.  But more than anything he simply missed Sherlock.  Which was ridiculous, of course, he saw the other man at least 3 times a week.

They spent more time together than they had since John had gotten married. He solved cases with Sherlock, they still had dinner together (often with Rosie in tow).  And Sherlock was fantastic with Rosie.  Sherlock watched Rosie when John was at the clinic a couple of times a week; everytime he came to pick her up he'd find the two of them completely engrossed in whatever they were doing.  She was always giggling and smiling at him and he was always smiling back.  Sherlock was soft and gentle with her and sometimes John just stood in the doorway to watch the two of them, his heart so full it felt like it was choking him.

If John was being honest, which was something the beer in his hand helped him to be, it wasn't the cases and the adrenaline he missed, it wasn't the thrill of being useful, not really. It was just Sherlock. It was his smile and the way his eyes lit up like he was sharing a secret with John.  It was how hard he was to the outside world, but how soft he was within the walls of 221B. It was the way he knew everything and nothing all at the same time.  It was the way he looked at John like he was everything, like he was the most important thing in the room, in the world.  It was the everyday little things that meant nothing to anyone else, but filled John to bursting.  It wasn't just Sherlock he missed, it was _them._

It was this thought that moved him to inviting Sherlock over after he'd put Rosie to bed and had a few beers.  He sent out a text and waited:

**What are you up to?**

He waited a moment, wondering drunkenly if this all seemed a bit desparate, if Sherlock would see right through his text.

**_Working on an experiment to categorize the potency and therefor effectiveness of nicotine in various patches and gums.-SH_ **

John wasn't quite sure about that sort of experiment. Was it something important? Something Sherlock wouldn't wanted interrupted? It didn't sound terribly important, but then again, he and Sherlock had very different ideas about what was important and what wasn't. He was debating sending another text when Sherlock sent him another.

**_Nothing of critical importance.-SH_ **

**_Why do you ask?-SH_ **

John swallowed and steeled himself, it couldn't hurt just to ask the other man over for a drink, could it?

**Wondered if you'd like to come round mine for a drink.**

He sent off the text before he could second guess himself, but as soon as it was sent he regretted it. This was a terrible idea, Sherlock would see right through this and then John would be left all alone.

It took a few minutes to get a response and John was thinking desperately for a way to get himself out of this, to convince Sherlock it had been merely a friendly invitation and nothing more, to just ignore him, when another text came through.

**_20 minutes alright?-SH_ **

**Great! See you then.**

John responded before he could think better of it then cursed his use of the exclamation point.  Why? Why had he thought an exclamation point was necessary for this conversation? Or to send to Sherlock ever? He spent the next 15 minutes fretting about his punctuation choices and nervously rearranging the pillows on the sofa as though Sherlock would give a damn.  The doorbell rang and John's heart jumped to his throat. He glanced around the tidy apartment once more and took a deep breath before opening the door.

Sherlock was standing on the top step, looking around the neighborhood critically, analyzing God only knew what. "Hey," John said, his voice coming out a bit breathless in spite of himself.

Sherlock turned, his eyes flickering over John, skimming over his face and the rest of him, clearly deducing, before coming to rest on John's face once more.  "Alright?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah," John replied, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Sherlock's brow furrowed slightly before he gave a shrug.

"Right," John said, shaking his head, "Come in. What am I doing keeping you out here in the cold?"

"It fine, John," Sherlock assured.

John turned and went inside, he could feel Sherlock's eyes on him, drilling into the back of his skull as though he could read John's mind. "What do you want to drink? I've got Courage Best in the fridge and I think I've got some bourbon tucked up in the cupboard."

"Bourbon," Sherlock replied absently. John glanced back and saw that Sherlock was looking around the flat, taking in every minute detail, and felt better about his fussing before Sherlock had arrived.

Sherlock followed John into the kitchen and watched John reach down a glass and the bottle of bourbon. John poured Sherlock a glass and grabbed himself another beer from the refrigerator.  He turned to find that Sherlock was still watching him intently, he attempted a grin which may have come out more like a grimace as he handed Sherlock his drink.

John tilted his head toward the living room in invitation as he took a first sip of his beer. Sherlock followed him without a word and John couldn't help but wonder if this had been a bad idea. He plopped himself down on the sofa with a huge sigh and Sherlock followed suit, sitting in the armchair across from John.

John cleared his throat, "So what was the experiment you said you were working on?"

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively, "Nothing, really.  Just something to pass the time. I was curious about the potency of nicotine in difference brands of gums and patches."

"You've given up smoking again, then?"

"Yes, Doctor," Sherlock said as he rolled his eyes. He brought his drink to his lips and murmured, "for the most part," before taking a sip.

John hummed at him in disbelief, "It's the 'for the most part' that has me believing you're fibbing."

Sherlock merely sipped his drink and didn't give John another answer.  They were quiet for a few moments and John's brain started spinning, desperately searching for something, anything, to talk about. "How's Mrs. Hudson?" John blurted as Sherlock started to ask, "How was your day?"

"Good," John replied.

"Now who's _fibbing?"_ Sherlock asked.

"How do you know I'm fibbing?" John asked, a smile at the corner of his lips in spite of himself.

Sherlock sat up in his chair a bit straighter, "Well, for starters there's the recent influenza epidemic, the one that none of this year's flu shots managed to catch. I've no doubts you were positively inundated with patients with flu symptoms that you couldn't treat; going by the socks you're wearing, I'd say you were thrown up on no fewer than three times."  Sherlock's eyes flickered across John's face again, "Influx of patients meant that you were late picking up Rosie from that terrible day care, and going by the fact that you're drinking Courage Best," he said with no small amount of disdain, "I'd say they must have charged you at least an extra forty quid for the late fee. The tension in your shoulders says you fought with the woman about the fee because you were late and you lost. Your state of your hair says you missed the bus and because of the snow, you couldn't catch a cab on the way home. Rosie must have been a bear," Sherlock said, tutting like an old woman, "she hates the cold."

"It was a bloke," John replied, because he liked it when Sherlock got something wrong, at least.

"Pardon?"

"At her day care. It was a bloke I got in a row with. The women there would have just given me my way."

Sherlock waved a hand, "Gender is superfluous. I've decided if I've gotten everything else right, gender doesn't matter."

John laughed and took a sip of his beer.

"How's Rosie?" Sherlock asked, his voice softening, "Apart from the miserable walk home, that is."

"She's good. Getting bigger everyday. Another bottom tooth is trying to come in so that's miserable, and she's always getting into things."

"I don't know how you do it everyday, I'm always wiped out when she spends the day with me," Sherlock gave John a soft smile.

"You get used to it," John said with a shrug.  "Besides, she's sleeping through the night now, and I own and use a play pen so I can get other things done around the house."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, "She hates those. She cries everytime I try to put her down in one," he justified.  "I can't just let her cry."

John laughed, "She only cries for a minute, then she settles into playing with her toys. You spoil her."

Sherlock sniffed haughtily, "Well, I only have one goddaughter, and I have it on good authority that spoiling her is what I'm meant to do."

"Well she loves you," John said with a smile.

Sherlock's own smile faltered and he looked at John very seriously for a moment, "I love her too," he said sincerely.

John took a sip of his drink and Sherlock cleared his throat before following suit. "Had any interesting cases that I've not gone on with you lately?" John asked.

And that question had Sherlock talking again, animatedly describing one of the "simple" cases he'd just solved for Lestrade. From there talking was easy, they chatted about cases and reminisced and John wondered if Sherlock might have missed this as much as he did. He'd poured Sherlock a second and a third drink, had a glass of bourbon himself and another beer and before he knew it, the clock on the wall was chiming 2 am.  "Is that the time?" he asked, glancing at his watch for affirmation.

"I believe it is," Sherlock replied, his speech a bit slurred, his fair skin rosy from drinking.

"I'm a proper adult now," John grumbled, slouching lower in his chair, "I don't stay up until all hours of the morning anymore."

Sherlock tipped his glass of bourbon back and finished it off, "Don't tell anyone, but I don't stay up the way I used to either. I'm in bed every night even if it's only for a few hours. I'm afraid I've turned into an adult, too."

John laughed, "It seems like ages ago."

"What does?" Sherlock asked, the top of his nose wrinkling in a way John loved.

"When you and I first met. The trouble we got into," John said shaking his head and laughing. "It almost feels like a whole different life."

Sherlock stared at him for a long moment, "The best life I've ever had," he replied.

John blinked at the statement, at the unexpected sweetness.

Before he could respond, Sherlock was rising from his chair, teetering unsteadily for a moment before he found his feet, "I'd best be off then."

John stood up, too, his head feeling woozy and not quite attached to his body. "You don't have to," he responded quickly. "You can stay, if you'd like. Kip on the sofa," John offered gesturing vaguely at the piece of furniture in question.

Sherlock shook his head and pulled his coat on, "That's alright, I'll catch a cab." He picked up his glass and headed toward the kitchen.

"It's no trouble," John assured as he followed him through the living room.  "Rosie would love to see you in the morning when she wakes," he said, mentally adding that he would love to see Sherlock first thing in the morning, too.

Sherlock gave him a crooked grin, "Bring her round Baker Street tomorrow morning, then."

John didn't know how to say that he just wanted to spend the night under the same roof as the other man, he didn't know how to express the bone deep desire to just fall asleep and wake up in the same place. "Yeah alright," John said instead, following Sherlock to the door like a lovesick puppy. When Sherlock's hand touched the doorknob John said, "Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to look at him and John realized just how close he was standing to the other man, close enough that he could see the stubble that covered the other man's cheeks and chin, close enough that he could see the lines on Sherlock's lips and the tiny wrinkles on the bridge of his nose and around his eyes. After John's eyes had traced Sherlock's face and landed on Sherlock's lips once more, Sherlock shakily asked, "Yes?"

John's eyes snapped up to Sherlock's and it took him a moment to realize that Sherlock was responding to John calling out his name, not asking permission for something. "It was the best life I've ever had, too."

Sherlock's eyes widened and then flitted down to John's lips, and John would never be sure who moved first, but the two of them were lunging for each other. John's hands reached up and clenched in the shoulders of Sherlock's coat and Sherlock's hands moved to cup John's face. John thrust his tongue between Sherlock's lips and the other man moaned, angling his head to allow John better access to his mouth. Tentatively Sherlock's tongue reached out to brush along John's. 

John pressed Sherlock back the few feet it took to pin him against the wall in the entry way, before sliding his hands down Sherlock's back over his hips and behind his thighs.  He bent his knees and lifted Sherlock off the ground, wrapping his thighs around his waist to lower him to a better height. 

Sherlock's fingers clenched in John's hair and he tugged a bit as he let out a whimpering moan. John licked into the other man's mouth and let his hands roam the back of Sherlock's thighs and massage his glorious arse.

Finally when he felt like he couldn't breathe and Sherlock was gasping raggedly against his lips for air, John drew back minutely from Sherlock, wondering if he might fall over. The distance was short lived because as soon as John opened his eyes, he saw Sherlock's lips pinked, cheeks flushed, and hair mussed and there was no choice, he had to kiss him again.  

He pressed his lips to Sherlock's in a sweet peck and Sherlock's lips responded sluggishly, half a moment after John's, and John loved that so he kissed him again. Sherlock kissed him back a heartbeat after his lips landed, just as John began pulling away again. He repeated the gesture half a dozen times before Sherlock's hands caught his face and held him in place. He held John close and leaned in to kiss him again, silently begging John to respond in kind. It was no hardship to comply.

They kissed again, twisting and tangling their tongues with one another before John finally pulled back and gently released Sherlock's legs from around his waist. His hands wandered up Sherlock's torso and neck before framing his face in his palms, tilting his head slightly so their foreheads could touch as they caught their breath. 

Sherlock's hands slid down to rest on John's chest, John wondered vaguely if Sherlock could feel his heart hammering away under his palm. John opened his eyes to take in the picture of Sherlock's face. His eyes were closed, his cheeks pink, as he caught his breath. "I've waited years to do that," John murmured.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and a grin quirked the corner of his lips, "Want to do it again?"

John grinned and leaned back in to kiss the other man.  He cupped Sherlock's face in his palms as his tongue slicked along the seam of Sherlock's lips once more.  He angled Sherlock's head a bit and Sherlock's mouth opened to allow John entrance once more. His hands slid down Sherlock's neck and chest before setting to work on the buttons of Sherlock's coat. With little thought, he slid all of the buttons through their holes and pushed it off the other man's shoulders. 

He let his lips wander from Sherlock's, moving over his chin and jaw and trailing down the other man's neck until he reached the scarf covering his neck. With a growl, John's fingers tugged that off, too, baring the other man's neck to his lips and teeth.  

He heard a 'thunk' as Sherlock's head bumped back against the wall to expose his skin to John's mouth.  John scraped his teeth along that delicate, pale flesh and a soft wine escaped Sherlock's throat. "John," he whimpered, his voice soft and high in a way John had never heard it. It sent a shudder from the souls of John's feet straight to his cock. "John please," Sherlock moaned.

And the sound of his name on Sherlock's lips; the soft, breathy way he moaned and whimpered, the way he _begged_ , it made John's cock practically throb. He had to have him. He slid his mouth back up along Sherlock's neck and to his lips once more. He tangled his fingers in Sherlock's curls, tugging lightly. 

"Uhhn," Sherlock moaned against his lips, his body arching into John's, until his erection could press hard against John's thigh.

John couldn't help but smirk against Sherlock's lips, he kept one hand in Sherlock's curls, but the other slid down until he could cup Sherlock's erection through his trousers. Sherlock's hips jerked at the contact and his mouth fell open, his head tilted back against the wall as he gasped. John massaged Sherlock's prick with the heel of his palm and Sherlock's hips thrust against his palm. He cried out before biting down on his lower lip.

John tugged his curls again and angled his head so he could suck at that tender skin.

"John," Sherlock whimpered, his fingers clasped tightly in John's shirt, clenching and unclenching. His body was tensed tight as a spring, "John," he gasped again, his voice harsh and desperate. "Uhhn, please," he murmured, his eyes clenched tight, "please, please, please," he begged as his body tensed further, John's fingers squeezed his cock through his trousers. Sherlock jerked and would have probably doubled over had it not been for John's shoulder catching his head.

John cupped the back of his neck, holding him close and stroking through Sherlock's curls at the nape of his neck. "That's it," John murmured and Sherlock shuddered and trembled against John. "You're perfect," John whispered, turning his head to press his lips to Sherlock's cheek. He gave Sherlock's cock one more gentle squeeze before removing his hand so he could wrap his arms around Sherlock's back and hold him.

"Oh," Sherlock breathed into John's shoulder, his body collapsing into John's entirely.

"Alright?" John whispered.

Sherlock nodded and nuzzled his nose further into John's neck.

"Will you stay the night now?" John teased in Sherlock's ear.

"You haven't given me much of a choice," Sherlock rumbled against John's skin. "These trousers absolutely must go in the wash before I can go home."

"Oh, I don't know," John remarked as Sherlock pulled back to glare unconvincingly at him. John leaned in and nipped at Sherlock's pouted bottom lip and Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut and his breath rushed out. John placed a soft kiss on his lips before drawing back a bit. He stroked his hands up and down Sherlock's spine, "If you really don't want to stay, you could always put on that giant coat and no one would be the wiser. Might be a bit of an uncomfortable trip home, though."

"A bit," Sherlock replied.

John leaned in and brushed his nose against Sherlock's, he felt giddy with joy, "Stay," he whispered.

"Mmh," Sherlock hummed thoughtfully, tracing his fingers over John's shoulders and chest. "I might," he said thoughtfully, "if you say we can do that again." His eyes flickered up to John's coyly and John knew he was completely doomed, but couldn't find it in himself to care.

"I might be able to be persuaded," John said with a laugh.

"Well," Sherlock said innocently, "I could always sleep on the sofa instead."

"Oh, you definitely won't be sleeping on the sofa. You might not even be sleeping," John said with a wink. "Come on," John said as he tugged Sherlock back toward the bedroom, his heart hammering in his throat in excitement.

He closed the door behind them before pulling Sherlock's body against his own once more and kissing him.

Sherlock's hands rested against John's chest and his body melted into John's as he kissed him back. John tugged at Sherlock's shirt until he'd untucked it from his trousers and could slide his hands under the hem and let his fingers trail along Sherlock's spine. Sherlock arched into him at the touch, gasping against John's lips. "You are fantastically sensitive," John murmured appreciatively.

"Speaking of sensitivity," Sherlock mumbled, "It's not that I don't enjoy kissing you, because I do, thoroughly. But my pants are a mess and they are starting to feel rather uncomfortable."

"Right," John said, stepping back slightly from Sherlock. "Why don't you go into the loo, get yourself undressed and cleaned up. If you hand me your trousers and pants through the door I'll toss them in the wash so you'll have something to wear in the morning." John reached out and brushed his fingers along Sherlock's cheek, "My bathrobe is hanging on the door if you want to put something on. That part certainly isn't mandatory, though."

Sherlock smiled at him, a grin full of lust and promise and John felt a shiver race up his spine. "I'll be back," Sherlock promised as he headed toward the loo attached to the room.

Once the door had closed, John blew out a breath and looked around the room. Everything was tidy for the most part, a bit of laundry was hanging out of the hamper but John couldn't imagine Sherlock would care about that. He went over to his nightstand and opened the drawer.  He dug around inside, pushing past the baby paraphernalia for the supplies that he knew were buried in this drawer somewhere. Finally, he found what he was looking for and set the bottle of lube and a couple of condoms on the top. 

A moment later he heard the door open and saw Sherlock's arm sticking out with trousers and pants in hand. Dutifully, John went over to take them, "You aren't going to come out?" he asked as he pulled the clothes from Sherlock's grasp.

"I'm not ever cleaned up yet," Sherlock told him.

"Fine," John said, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Sherlock's hand. "I'm going to toss these in the wash. Be out when I get back, yeah?"

"Is that an order, Captain?" Sherlock asked silkily through the door as his hand disappeared.

"Yes," John replied simply before leaving to toss in Sherlock's wash. He was back in less than two minutes, practically salivating at the thought of seeing Sherlock in his bathrobe, or better yet nothing at all. He was surprised when he came in to find that Sherlock wasn't wearing his bathrobe, nor was he naked. Rather, he was still wearing his purple button up and a pair of tight black pants that looked suspiciously like a pair John owned. 

Sherlock was perched on the edge of his bed, looking for all the world like a bloody pants model. He averted his gaze and bit his bottom lip, "I hope you don't mind that I borrowed a pair of your pants," he murmured before looking up at John under his eyelashes.

And were it not for the mischievous glint in his eyes and the tiny quirk of the left corner of his mouth, or for the fact that John knew Sherlock better than he knew his own self, he might have believed the fake innocent ploy. As it stood, John's mind did, in fact, know better. His cock on the other hand was quite convinced and his arousal was ratcheted up another notch. He was across the room in a heart beat, tipping Sherlock onto his back and pinning him to the mattress beneath his body.

"Oh," Sherlock breathed, his voice breathy and soft in amazement as his hands moved up to tangle in the hair at the back of John's head.

"It's fine," John told him in a low growl, "You are welcome to borrow my pants any time you like." He didn't give Sherlock a chance to respond as his lips descended on the other man's; hot, desperate, and achingly wanting.

Sherlock fingers, still wound in John's hair, clenched and scratched at his scalp, drawing him impossibly closer as his body arched and pressed against John's. Sherlock drew back after a moment, gasping for air. He stroked his fingers along John's neck as John's lips and teeth set to work at the pale, glorious column of Sherlock's neck. "I can't decide if it's just because I'm drunk or if you truly feel this amazing. One thing's for certain, though,"

John pulled off Sherlock's neck long enough to ask, "What's that?" he let his breath intentionally ghost over Sherlock's damp skin and his ear.

"Mmmh," Sherlock sighed, tilting his head, imploring John not to stop his ministrations. John obliged him, leaning in to kiss and tongue at Sherlock's neck once more. "Oh," Sherlock sighed before continuing his thought, "This endorphin business is the best high I've ever had."

John laughed and with one more nip to Sherlock's delicate skin, he sat up so he was kneeling between Sherlock's legs. He took in the stunning beauty of the man beneath him and Sherlock practically preened. He stretched his arms up over his head, arching his back and rolling his hips, a pale strip of flesh peeked out between his pants and the shirt. John leaned in immediately to brush his lips over that tempting perfect flesh. 

Sherlock gasped breathily as John's lips trailed over that exposed skin, Sherlock's cheeks pinked and his fingers carefully carded through John's hair. "You are so bloody gorgeous," John said into his skin before looking up at Sherlock's face. 

Sherlock smiled sweetly down at him and brushed his fringe back. John pressed his lips to that trail of skin once more and nosed it higher to reveal more skin, even as his hands reached up to set to work unbuttoning the shirt, "I'm going to devour you," John growled low in his throat.

Once his fingers had managed all of the buttons, he parted Sherlock's shirt and slid up the other man's body. He paused briefly to suck at each perfect, rosy nipple and Sherlock gasped an moaned beneath him. Once he'd kissed up his neck and collarbones, John sat up and maneuvered Sherlock out of the shirt, tossing it onto the floor when he'd managed it.

 Sherlock reached for the hem of John's jumper and tugged at it, "Get yourself undressed," he begged.

John knelt between Sherlock's thighs and tugged his jumper up and over his head before squirming inelegantly out of his trousers and pants. Then he tugged down Sherlock's pants, unceremoniously baring the other man's body to his gaze. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he gazed down at the Adonis beneath him. "It's completely unfair."

"What is?" Sherlock asked and John watched as Sherlock dragged his eyes up from John's cock to his face.

If John said he wasn't flattered by Sherlock's interest, he'd have been lying. He cleared his throat, "How fucking hot you are."

Sherlock choked on a laugh, reaching up to tug at John's neck, "Kiss me and put your cock inside of me."

"In that order?" John teased, brushing his lips back and forth across Sherlock's.

Sherlock shrugged, "Or simultaneously, I'm not fussy." He grinned against John's lips, his eyes closing and squinting with the fullness of his smile.

John felt his heart flutter in his chest, he didn't know feeling someone smile this way while they kissed could make him feel like this; like the sun was washing over him on the first sunny day of Spring. John pressed his lips to Sherlock's over and over and Sherlock's fingers slipped into his hair, scraping bluntly at his scalp. "Are you sure you want me to fuck you?" John murmured when he pulled back, brushing his nose against Sherlock's and watching as the other man's eyes fluttered open to look at him. "We're a bit drunk," he pointed out.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and wrapped his legs around John's hips, tilting his hips up until John's cock could settle between his buttocks. John groaned and couldn't help the way his body ground against Sherlock's, it felt so incredible. John dropped his face to the crook of Sherlock's neck and let himself grind against him for a long moment, Sherlock tilted his head back, pressing back against John. "Fuck," he groaned. "I've never been more sure of anything."

"Right then," John said, grinding against him for another moment before pulling back.

Sherlock groaned, pressing his hips toward John and wrapping his legs tighter around his waist.

John laughed and leaned in to nibble and suck at the other man's neck, "If you wanted me to fuck you," he murmured hotly in Sherlock's ear, "you have to let me prepare you."

Sherlock's nailed scraped bluntly at John's shoulders as he ground hard against John's cock for another moment, "But you feel so good."

John leaned back, tangling his fingers in Sherlock's curls and kissing him hard, when he pulled back, he gave Sherlock's curls a playful tug. Sherlock's mouth fell open and his head tilted back, John smiled and tugged gently again, Sherlock's cock poking at his side. "On your knees," John said, his voice soft but commanding. 

Sherlock whimpered, and his legs unhooked from around John's back immediately. John kissed him once before sitting up so that Sherlock could roll over. Sherlock scrambled to roll up onto his knees, presenting his arse to John without hesitation.

John cupped his arse in his palms, rubbing and massaging at his generous buttocks, Sherlock groaned and wantonly pressed back into John's palms. "You've got a fantastic arse," John said truthfully, thinking of all of the times he'd watched Sherlock stride up the stairs in front of him in those tight trousers that left little to the imagination.

"John," Sherlock moaned breathily, "Please."

John leaned in to nip at Sherlock's rounded buttock as he reached for the lube, revelling in Sherlock's whimpers. He poured a generous amount of lube sloppily onto his fingers and spread Sherlock's buttocks to rub his slick fingers over his hole.

Sherlock's arms gave out at the touch and he collapsed forward onto the bed, keeping his arse in the air but the upper half of his body on the bed. It was ridiculously sexy.

"You're incredible," John murmured, pressing kisses up Sherlock's spine. "Deep breath," he said.

Sherlock obeyed and John pressed his forefinger into Sherlock's body. "Oh," Sherlock gasped, his body clenching and unclenching around his finger as it tried to adjust.

"Alright?" John murmured, rubbing soothingly at Sherlock's sacrum. He pressed kisses to Sherlock's spine and up his neck.

Sherlock nodded and John started rocking his finger in and out of the other man's hole, "Yes. Keep doing that."

"What?" John asked as he pressed his finger further inside of Sherlock's hole, circling it slowly around his rim while kissing his neck.

"Yes," Sherlock replied cheekily, twisting his head to catch John's lips with his own. "All of that," he said as he turned his head back and reached up a hand to gesture vaguely. "Only more."

"Bossy little thing, aren't you?" John murmured. "I ought to slow down," he teased, stroking his fingers in and out of Sherlock's hole at a glacial speed.

Sherlock's fingers clenched in the bedsheets above his head, "John, please," he whimpered.

John couldn't help but give in at that word. He reached for the lube and added some to his second finger before pressing that into Sherlock's body, too.

Sherlock gasped, his spine curved, and his fingers clenched in the bed sheets, his hole clenching like a vice around John's fingers. 

"Breathe," John murmured softly, draping himself across Sherlock's back and stilling his fingers as he pressed kisses to the other man's neck and brushed his nose through his curls.

Sherlock nodded and exhaled shakily, his body trembling a bit under John's. 

His body relaxed miniscully as John kissed and sucked at his neck, "That's it," John said as he leaned forward further to nibble at the other man's ear. He twisted his fingers so his thumb could rub at Sherlock's perineum. Sherlock relaxed further, "that's it, beautiful. Nice deep breath, relax for me."

"John, I'm fine," Sherlock grumbled petulantly.

"I know," John soothed as he sat up a bit and let his fingers of his unoccupied hand delve into Sherlock's curls. "Been a while, huh?"

He could practically hear Sherlock's eye roll, "I said I'm fine."

"Right," John replied, easing his fingers into Sherlock's hole, the other man was undoubtedly more relaxed than he'd been those minutes ago. John crooked his fingers, reaching for Sherlock's prostate with the unerring accuracy of a doctor. 

"Gah," Sherlock babbled, his hips jerking at the contact. "Oh fuck," he moaned, "Yes." Sherlock spread his legs wider and circled his hips attempting to get more consistent pressure on the tiny bundle of nerves. "Oh," he whimpered as John let his fingers rub soft circles over his prostate.

"Do you like that?" John asked, his voice coming out rough and dark.

Sherlock nodded vigorously against the bed, his breath escaping in harsh gasps as he attempted to fuck himself on John's fingers. 

John reached between the other man's legs, planning on fondling his balls for a moment, but his fingers brushed against an erection that had perked up considerably. "Damn, Sherlock," he murmured appreciatively as he stroked his cock with his fingertips and Sherlock let out a piteous moan. "You have the refractory period of an eighteen year old."

"Good," Sherlock replied. "How many times could you get off when you were eighteen?" the other man asked curiously.

John laughed and scissored his fingers absently, "There was one weekend when my parents were away and my sister was staying at a girlfriend's house, I wanked myself stupid that weekend. I think the max was 5 times one night, but it felt like complete shite the next day."

Sherlock laughed and glanced back over his shoulder, "Touch my prostate again?" Sherlock asked, tacking a sweet little "please," on the end.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," John said, angling his fingers to rub over that bundle again. 

"Oh," Sherlock exhaled, just the way he did when he'd solved a particularly vexing mystery. "Oh, yes," he hummed low in his throat, making John's own cock throb with need. "Yes, _John,_ " he moaned. "Yes, right there. Oh," he gasped, his thighs quivering.

John's heart was hammering in his throat and he was fairly sure he'd never been this hard in his entire life. And he was hot, sweat rolling down his back between his shoulder blades and his neck. He was so hot. Just listening to the gorgeous sounds pouring out of his best friend's mouth, he could wank to this memory for the rest of his life.

"Yes," Sherlock moaned again, interrupting John's thoughts. "Fuck," he moaned, dragging out the 'ffff' sound at the beginning, letting out a breathy 'uhh' in the middle and closing it off with a hard "ck" at the end. Never had John heard the word 'fuck' said so sensuously, and his bones turned to lava. He pressed harder at the other man's prostate and Sherlock cried out, "Yes! John, yes."

"I have to get another finger inside of you," John groaned, reaching for the lube and pouring it over his third finger. "I have to fuck you or I'm going to come just listening to your voice."

"You like my voice?" Sherlock asked silkily.

"Fuck yes," John replied as he leaned down the trail his tongue along the sweat on Sherlock's back. "Deep breath," he said into the flesh of Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock obeyed and on his exhale John pressed his third finger inside of him. 

"Ahh," Sherlock whimpered, pressing his forehead hard into his hands as his body clenched.

"Breathe for me," John said soothingly. "Just relax for me."

"For you?" Sherlock murmured, "anything."

Before John could respond to that Sherlock's body was consciously relaxing around him and he was pressing back on John's fingers. "You're incredible," John marveled as he crooked his fingers and brushed the three of them over Sherlock's prostate. 

Sherlock's back arched like he'd been touched by a live wire and he moaned, wiggling his hips on John's fingers wantonly. 

John leaned back, "Oh," he murmured, taking in the way Sherlock's hole stretched open and pink around his fingers. "Sherlock," he breathed. "Darling, the way you're stretched around my fingers. You're stunning."

"John please," Sherlock begged, "I'm so hard," he moaned. "I need you inside of me."

John scissored his fingers a few times, thinking he honestly couldn't have agreed with Sherlock more. "Are you sure you're ready?" John asked, thinking he really hadn't devoted as long to preparing Sherlock as he might have liked. It was a particular fantasy of his to imagine bringing Sherlock to the edge over and over and over before they came.

"I'm sure," Sherlock whimpered. "John please."

"Yes, alright," John said, kissing the other man's back as he pulled his fingers out and reached for the condom on the nightstand.

Sherlock turned his head, his eyes tracking John's movements, "Unnecessary."

"Necessary," John replied as he tore the package and rolled it onto his cock. "It's been ages since I've been tested."

Sherlock looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes, "I trust you implicitly."

"While I appreciate the sentiment," John said, pausing to moan as he rubbed lube over his erection, "I won't risk something like your health needlessly because I was too damn lazy to put a condom on."

Sherlock rolled his eyes again but John cut him off, "Can we table this discussion for a later time?" John asked. "I would truly love to fuck you right now."

Sherlock huffed but there was no heat in his words, "Yes, fine."

John laughed, "Alright, here's what I need you to do for me. Sit up a bit and spread your legs further."

Sherlock rose up onto his knees and elbows, spreading his legs so John could slide between his calfs and line his cock up with Sherlock's hole. He teased the head of his cock around Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock let out a breathy moan, his breath coming in harsh gasps. 

"It's more of a stretch than three fingers," John warned him, "Take a nice deep breath and concentrate on relaxing."

Sherlock nodded and did just that. 

"Good," John praised as he pressed his cock slowly into the other man's body. He'd gotten about half an inch when Sherlock's hole clenched around him and the other man's fingers grasped the bedsheets."Bre-"

"Breathe," Sherlock interrupted. "I know. I've got it."

John trailed his hands up Sherlock's abdomen until his reached his nipples. He rolled the tight buds between his thumbs and forefingers. Sherlock gasped and arched into John's touch, "Oh," he whimpered, his hole relaxing incrementally.

"Do you like that?" John asked as he pinched and rolled his nipples.

"Yes," Sherlock breathed. "Oh, yes."

"Good," John said as he pressed a kiss to the other man's neck, "I'm going to keep going, okay?"

Sherlock nodded, squirming a bit as John toyed with his nipples.

"Tell me if it hurts," John said softly. "Or if you just want to stop."

Sherlock huffed impatiently, "I'm not fragile."

"No," John agreed, sliding his cock forward slowly. "But it's okay if you don't like this. Trust me, there are plenty of ways for me to debauch you."

Sherlock laughed and then groaned as John pressed forward. Sherlock twisted his neck around once John was fully seated, "Kiss me," he demanded.

John laughed, "Always one for a challenge, aren't you?" He leaned forward, sloppily pressing his lips to Sherlock's.

When he drew back Sherlock smirked at him, "So are you going to fuck me or...?"

"Hands on the headboard," he said, nodding to the object in question.

Sherlock complied, grasping the top of the headboard with his fingers. John pulled out and pushed back in in a slow, measured stroke. "You feel amazing," he said with a groan. "Hot and wet, and so fucking tight."

"John," Sherlock said, and John knew even without looking up, exactly what that tone of voice meant. He'd heard it a dozen times before Sherlock had goaded him into doing something against his better judgement. "Is that really what you call fucking me?"

"Don't," John warned, looking at the other's face but he could tell from the twinkle in Sherlock's eye that he absolutely wasn't going to listen. He couldn't help the way his lips turned up at the corners in response, even as he shook his head. 

"Come on," Sherlock challenged, "Surely 'Three Continents Watson' can do better than this. Shouldn't I be screaming or something?"

John shook his head, "I hate you."

"No you don't," Sherlock replied cockily with a smirk a mile wide. 

John said nothing in response, he merely drew his body back slowly, leisurely rocking in and out of Sherlock's body a few times just to make sure he was sufficiently stretched. Then without warning, he grasped Sherlock's hips and thrust home, snapping his hips hard enough that his balls slapped Sherlock's arse. Sherlock's fingers gripped the headboard tight and braced himself, even as John thrust in hard again.

"Oh," Sherlock groaned, his head dropping between his shoulders as John plowed into him. Sherlock's arms flexed and he pushed back hard on John's cock. "That's so-" he gasped as John snapped his hips again, "much-" another pause to moan as John's cock brushed his prostate, "Better," he finally finished.

"Cocky bastard," John grunted as he fucked the other man, grasping his hips and trying to angle his body to hit his prostate more easily. There were a couple of thrusts where he thought he might have hit it based on the way Sherlock moaned and expletives escaped his lips. But then he knew without a doubt when actually found it because when he hit that sweet spot Sherlock wailed his name and his nails scraped at the headboard. 

"Do not wake up Rosie," John threatened as he slammed into that same spot again.

Sherlock's hole quivered around his cock, "John," Sherlock gasped, "Oh, my cock," he whimpered, "I'm leaking all over the bed." 

John groaned and reached down to feel how wet the other man was, Sherlock's cock spurted a bit of pre-ejaculate into his hand. "Oh," Sherlock whimpered, his body shuddering as though he wasn't sure which sensation to give in to. "I'm-" he broke off to gasp again. "Oh fuck me."

"I'm certainly endeavoring to," John grunted, his own voice coming out sounding like he'd just run a marathon. 

Sherlock's legs and arms gave out a bit and his back bowed, hips collapsing toward the bed. John physically lifted Sherlock's hips for him and continued to pound into him, not letting Sherlock just rub off on the bed. He pushed himself harder, his thighs burning and his chest heaving.

"I'm going to orgasm," Sherlock blurted. "Oh, John, I need.." he trailed off uncertainly. 

John released Sherlock's hip with his left hand and leaned forward so he could grasp Sherlock's hair in his fist, he leaned down and whipsered in Sherlock's ear, "Come for me."

That seemed to be all it took, Sherlock orgasmed forcefully, his hips jerking as he impaled himself over and over on John's cock. And the squeezing of Sherlock's channel was enough for him to release as well, moaning Sherlock's name. 

Sherlock collapsed completely onto the bed and John collapsed forward onto Sherlock, gasping for breath and feeling Sherlock's body struggling to receive enough air as well. He scratched lightly at Sherlock's scalp before pulling out gingerly. He flopped over onto his back and stripped his member of the condom, binning it before he rolled onto his side. He let his fingers trail up and down his lover's back, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, "That was fantastic," John murmured.

Sherlock turned his head to look at John and gave him a pleased grin. 

John leaned forward and kissed him softly, over and over, "You're fantastic."

Sherlock smiled and stroked his thumb over John's cheek, "It's been a long time since you've called me that," he said softly, his eyes warm.

John wanted to protest, he truly did, because he could scarcely think of a time when he hadn't thought this man was fantastic and brilliant, but then Sherlock was leaning in, pressing John onto his back, cupping John's face in his palms and kissing him. He pressed soft, sweet, almost shy pecks to John's lips and John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, drawing his body close and kissing him until his smile made it nearly impossible.

Sherlock laughed into the kiss, a soft disbelieving sound, before he drew back. He stroked John's fringe back from his forehead and just stared at him for a long moment.

"What are you thinking?" John asked, tracing Sherlock's spine with his fingers.

The right corner of Sherlock's lips quirked up, "Just you."

John leaned up and captured Sherlock's lips once more, because he could and because he'd wanted to kiss the other man since the day they'd met. His hands clasped Sherlock's lithe form to him more tightly.

Sherlock drew back and pressed their foreheads together, taking a steadying breath he said, "Right." Then he pressed another quick peck to John's lips as though he couldn't bear not to. "Let me up."

"What?" John asked indignantly, his eyes narrowing at the other man even as his hands grasped him tighter. "Why?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes but he was still smiling, happier than John had seen him in a long time. "First because I am covered in ejaculate for the second time, which is getting a bit uncomfortable. Second, because I need to put my trousers and pants in the dryer or I won't have anything to wear in the morning."

"Damn," John murmured, stroking Sherlock's frizzy curls back off his face, "My dastardly scheme's been foiled." He let his hand trail down Sherlock's spine to rub possessively over the other man's arse. "I rather liked the idea of you running around the flat all day in a pair of my pants and one of my t-shirts."

Sherlock laughed and pressed another easy kiss to John's lips, and John thought he could really get used to those kisses that seemed to simply slip from the other man's lips. "I'm sure that would be an excellent example to set for your daughter.

"She's hardly a year old," John protested, "She wouldn't know the difference."

"Well," Sherlock teased, "If that's the case, I may as well wear a sheet all day."

"Mmmh," John hummed at him, stroking his hand up and down Sherlock's back, "I like your idea better." He brushed his lips along Sherlock's, lingering on the right corner for a moment longer at the way it made Sherlock's breath catch. "Let's do it your way."

"You're incorrigible," Sherlock replied, his voice breathy.

John grinned and pressed another kiss to his lips.

Sherlock allowed it for a long moment before pulling back, "Let me up," he said again with a laugh at the displeasure that must have been obvious on John's face.

John sighed in defeat and released the other man, "Fine." 

Sherlock sat up then twisted his torso to look back at John over his shoulder. He smiled at him and leaned in, pressing a hand to John's chest to balance himself so he could press their lips together. He drew back a moment later and looked at John like he might say something but then shook his head. He stood up and popped into the loo without another word, closing the door with a soft click.

John stretched his sore muscles trying to remember the last time he'd fucked someone like that, it must have been ages ago. After stretching hard enough that everything popped, he shifted around, throwing the duvet they'd made a mess of onto the floor and sliding under the covers. He left Sherlock's side turned down for him in clear invitation and then smiled at those words in his mind _Sherlock's side,_ yes he could get used to this. He rolled onto his side, patiently waiting for the other man to come out of the loo, it wasn't long before the toilet flushed and the sink was running, then the door opened again.

He smiled up at Sherlock as he came back into the room and the corner of Sherlock's lips tipped up in response. "Kiss me," John murmured, reaching out a hand to him. His head felt light and floaty from the combination of alcohol, hormones, and sheer happiness.

Sherlock attempted to roll his eyes, but his grin belied his eye rolling. He moved to the edge of the bed and sat down at the corner at John's waist. He brushed John's fringe back then leaned in to kiss him, slowly and sweetly, "Satisfied?" Sherlock asked when he pulled back.

"Never," John replied, stretching up toward him and wrapping his fingers in the curls at the nape of Sherlock's neck to draw their lips together once again.

Sherlock hummed and framed John's face with his palm, stroking his cheek with his thumb. "John Watson," he murmured when he drew back.

John smiled up at him, irrationally pleased, as he always was, by the sound of his name on Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock leaned in and brushed a kiss across John's brow and John felt oddly cherished and touched by the gesture, even as Sherlock stood and drew away from him. "Laundry," Sherlock said, "then sleep."

"Sleep's boring," John returned through a massive yawn, thinking he never wanted to close his eyes to the reality of what was happening again.

Sherlock laughed and shook his head, "You're exhausted. And it's almost four in the morning."

John let his head fall back to the pillow and hummed noncommittally, "Hurry back." Sherlock turned to leave and John couldn't help but admire the gentle slope of his bare back and the generous curve of his buttocks, "I do hate seeing you leave," John said and Sherlock glanced back over his shoulder at him, "But I do love watching you go."

Sherlock snorted, "John Watson, just how drunk are you?"

"Very," John replied easily.

"That was a terrible line," Sherlock said as he opened the door, "even for you."

John couldn't help the smile that stretched across his lips, he couldn't remember ever feeling this way, feeling this happy, this free. His eyes drifted shut without his consent, and he hadn't realized he'd dozed off until he felt the bed next to him dip. He opened his eyes and turned his head toward Sherlock, opening his mouth to speak.

Sherlock pressed a soft finger to his lips, "Sleep," he whispered. 

"C'mere," John murmured against his finger, drawing Sherlock closer so he could curl up next to him.

With a pleased hum, Sherlock fit himself under John's arm, entwining their legs and hooking their feet together. Sherlock wrapped his arm across John's chest and tucked his head against his neck. John slipped his fingers through Sherlock's curls, turning to press a sleepy kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 

Sherlock sighed contentedly, "Good night, John," he whispered.

"Night, Sherlock." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was meant to just be a fluffy drabble- it sort of spiraled out of control. Oops! 
> 
> I just really needed to write some fluff, honestly. 
> 
> Enjoy!

John awoke the next morning to the screams of his daughter piercing through the monitor, it felt like they were splitting his skull open. He covered his ears for a moment, "Oh fuck me," he groaned, and those words brought the night before back to him in a rush. "Sherlock?" He mumbled, reaching blindly toward the other side of the bed. When he didn't feel anything he squinted one eye open.

The other half of the bed was empty, not even warm anymore and John felt a stone drop in the pit of his stomach. Rosie cried out in frustration, "Right," he mumbled, staggering to a standing position, "Rosie."

He went through to her bedroom and lifted her out of her crib, he put her in a fresh nappy and talked to her with as much cheerfulness as he could muster. Thankfully, Rosie was a fairly easy going baby, it would have served him right but he wasn't sure he'd have been able to handle a fussy baby this morning. "There we are," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her on the forehead as he snapped her onesie in place. He lifted her into his arms and she kicked her legs, gurgling at him, "Come on," he said, bouncing her a bit as they left the room. "Let's see if Sherlock is here somewhere," he said, adding, "He damn well better be," under his breath.

"Sherlock?" John called as he walked through the living room and into the kitchen. There was no trace of the other man, and when John checked the laundry room the dryer stood open and empty. "Damn it," he muttered, then glanced at Rosie, "Sorry sweetness." He rocked her as he carried her to the kitchen, she babbled inarticulately at him, "Yes," he said, nodding at her as though she was making sense. "Please don't let your first word be a curse word. Maybe da-da," he said softly, setting her into her high chair. "Da-da?" John prompted her.

Rosie buzzed her lips, spitting on her chin. "Close enough," John told her, pressing a kiss to her head as he pulled out the box of cheerios and a jar of peaches. He set out the cereal on her tray and went to make himself a cup of coffee, while it brewed he drank a glass of water and took an aspirin hoping to get his head to stop pounding so he could think this through.

He plopped down in the chair next to Rosie, watching her smash cheerios with her chubby little fist. "What do you think?" John asked, tiredly resting his chin in his palm. "Do you think Sherlock left because he doesn't want this?" He took a sip of his coffee, "Or did he just panic this morning when he woke up?"

He caught a cheerio Rosie launched at him, "No," he said firmly, grasping her hand and opening her fingers before she threw a handful. "Do you think he thinks I don't want this?" John wondered incredulously.

Rosie screeched at that and John raised an eyebrow at her, "Maybe he doesn't want all that comes with me. But if that's the case he can just piss off." But that didn't seem likely, Sherlock adored Rosie.

"But there are other things," John continued, opening the jar of peaches and watching in amusement as Rosie gurgled and bounced in her chair in anticipation. He dropped a few baby sized pieces onto her plate and popped one into his own mouth. "All that business with your mama," John murmured around the peach. "All those terrible things that followed," John shut his eyes against the flood of memories and regrets that kept him awake at night.

"We've been through so much, Sherlock and me." Rosie smashed a peach into the remainder of the cheerios. "He's right, you know, in a way. There's a lot of history there, Rosie. A lot of baggage." He shook his head, "Maybe he was just drunk," he murmured, his heart sinking. "Maybe he woke up and realized he'd had an affair with the work and wanted out."

John shrugged helplessly, "I mean he was the one to say he doesn't do relationships. 'Love is a chemical defect found on the losing side,' and all of that." He set a few more slices of peaches on her plate, "And was he really wrong? I mean look at all of the terrible shite we've been through. Look at what loving that man has done to me," John said softly, taking a sip of coffee, "He's broken me over and over in ways I didn't even realize were possible."

He stared at his daughter for a long moment, was this what he wanted her to believe? That loving someone broke you? That loving meant losing? "But no," he said, as he wiped a dribble of peach juice from her chin with her bib much to her displeasure. "No," he said again. "That's not all loving someone is. Loving someone is healing too. It's having a purpose and a place, it means not being alone. It means having something worth fighting for."

"Something worth fighting for," he murmured again. He blinked and everything slotted into place. "Right," he said decisively. "We'll get you cleaned up, I'll take a shower, then we're going to Baker Street. I've got someone who needs to be fought for.”

\--------------------

It was just over an hour an a half by the time John had himself and Rosie ready to leave, and he hadn't even bothered to shave today. He grabbed the emergency diaper bag he had packed for when Sherlock called him on a case and threw in a couple of jars of baby food, two bottles, and some cheerios just in case.

John put on the contraption he privately refererred to as a baby backpack and harnessed Rosie to his front before putting the backpack that serves as as a diaper bag on his back. He walked the quarter of a mile to the bus stop and hopped on. The ride to Baker Street wasn't a terribly long one and he murmured softly to Rosie both to distract her (and to distract himself) the entire way.

He got off the bus at the stop nearest to 221B Baker Street and walked the rest of the way. When he got there he found himself unable to enter right away. John stared up at the building, the light was on in the flat upstairs and he found himself overcome with the sense of home and rightness. He felt nerves rise up from the tips of his toes into his belly, was he risking everything he had for nothing?

Rosie gurgled at him and patted herbpalms against his chest, as if she were urging him onward.

"Too right," John told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Time to be a man."

He climbed the steps and debated on ringing the buzzer, but decided against it and just went in. He stopped first at 221A, knocking and entering Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"John, dear," she said with a genuine smile and half hug, "How are you?"

"Ahh..." John trailed off, "I'm not sure yet. Have you seen Sherlock today?"

Her smile faltered, "Yes, he was busying himself with some sort of experiment or another. Told me he'd no time for idle chatter this morning."

John swallowed and glanced down at Rosie who was happily chewing on her teething ring. "Listen, could you do me a huge favor and watch Miss Rosie for a little bit while Sherlock and I have a chat?"

"Oh, I'd be happy to, dear!" Mrs. Hudson cooed, reaching out automatically for Rosie. John unhooked her from the baby backpack, before handing her off and setting the diaper bag on the armchair.

"Thank you," John said sincerely. "She'll be ready to go down for her nap in about forty five minutes," he said glancing at his watch. "There's a couple bottles of formula in the diaper bag that you might want to move to the fridge."

"I'll take care of it, dear. Now go on."

John nodded and took a fortifying breath. He headed up the stairs and pushed open the door to the flat. Everything looked as it always did and John's heart constricted with the closest thing to homesickness he'd ever experienced (as it had everytime he'd enter this place after Sherlock jumped).

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, bent over something John couldn't see, a bright light suspended from the ceiling and dangling above his head. He was muttering to himself about something John couldn't quite hear and it seemed he hadn't noticed John's presence.

"Hi," John said uncertainly.

"John," Sherlock said, clearly startled as he broke into a flurry of movement, his head jerked up from what he was working on and he started to stand and spin around. Unfortunately, the light he'd hung to better see whatever it was he was working on was too close to his head and he whacked himself on it with a loud thunk.

John reflexively moved toward the other man, hands reaching out.

"Damn," Sherlock muttered, his fingers flying up to cover his forehead and feel the gash the light had made.

"Sorry," John said, stepping closer, "I didn't mean to startle you. Let me see," he instructed.

"No," Sherlock said, fleeing to the other side of the table to put some space between them. "No, it's fine. It's nothing, just a scratch."

But John could see the blood dripping between Sherlock's fingers, "Sherlock," John scolded, "It's not nothing you're bleeding."

"John, it's fine, I assure you-"

"Sherlock, sit the fuck down and let me look at your bloody head, you wanker," John rolled his eyes. "I promise to be a perfect gentleman." Sherlock sneered at him and opened his mouth to respond, but John was having none of that. "Now," he barked in a tone that allowed no argument.

With a huff Sherlock plopped down into one of the kitchen chairs and John walked over to him, grabbing a kitchen towel from the drawer on his way. "Lift your head," he instructed softly, his fingers gentle as he tilted Sherlocks chin back and Sherlock acquiesced. John wiped around the cut carefully, "It looks superficial," he said. "I don't think you'll need any stitches, a butterfly bandage ought to do. Here," he said, pressing the towel over Sherlock's cut to stem the bleeding. "Hold this and let's get you patched up."

Sherlock took the towel from John and stood, moving toward the loo. John followed along behind, watching Sherlock bend down to close the toilet lid as he maneuvered around him to get to the medicine cabinet. John rummaged around, digging for any useful supplies. "Where's all the stuff from my kit?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged noncommittally, "Used probably. It's been years since you lived here."

John ignored the comment, not prepared to have this conversation while Sherlock was bleeding and perched on a toilet. He dug around further but could only find rubbing alcohol wipes. "This is going to sting a bit," he told the other man.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him and John took the towel of his forehead, trying to wipe up as much of the blood as he could before dabbing at his skin with the alcohol wipe. Sherlock hissed sharply through his teeth, "I warned you," John said softly. He reached for a tube of neosporin and the butterfly bandages he'd miraculously found at the bottom of the cupboard. He applied the neosporin to the bandaids efficiently before pinching the wound closed and putting the bandages in place. 

When he'd finished he binned the towel and all the other pieces of rubbish before moving to the sink to wash his hands.

"What's the prognosis, doctor?" Sherlock asked sarcastically. "Will I live?"

John glanced at him from the corner of his eye, damn he was prickly this morning. "I think you'll pull through," John said lightly. "Come on," he said as he left the loo, "I'm making tea. We need to talk."

He headed to the kitchen, carefully clearing a space amid the rubble on the table for teacups after he'd switched on the kettle. Sherlock slunk into the kitchen a moment later, still refusing to meet John's gaze. John turned away from the other man and focused on the tea kettle, trying to compose his thoughts that were racing wildly through his head. Fear that this was a huge mistake rose up in his throat like bile and choked him. What had they done?

The kettles clicked, bringing John back to reality, and he went through the motions of making tea for the both of them without faltering as though he'd never stopped. He set Sherlock's cup down in front of him and sat down in the chair closest to him. 

Sherlock ignored both John and the tea in favor of toying with the hem of his tshirt. 

John watched him for a long moment warring with the words that wanted to escape his lips. He wanted to tell him last night was amazing, he wanted to tell him that he looked beautiful even with a gash across his forehead, he wanted to tell him he'd never leave his side again, if only Sherlock would say that was what he wanted. "So-" John started inelloquently.

But Sherlock spoke then, stopping him, "John, we don't," he swallowed nervously, his eyes flickering up to John's face, "We don't have to do this." He looked away from John, staring at the corner of the table. "It's fine. We were drunk, you were lonely, it was convenient. It's all fine." Sherlock repeated and John couldn't help but wonder if it was for John's benefit or for his own. "Look," Sherlock said, glancing quickly at John before looking away again, "we don't need to make a big deal of this. Things are good like they are. Solving cases. Me watching Rosie when you work at the clinic. Friends," he said softly. "The whole thing is ridiculous anyway. You're not gay, I'm married to my work."

"You are the very best friend I have ever had," John said softly, and at either the tone of his voice or his words, Sherlock looked up at him, scanning his features. "And if you want to only be friends, I will try to forget about last night. I'll tuck it away and we'll never talk about it. But," John said, then he paused and bit his lip and it was his turn to glance away from Sherlock. He couldn't look at the other man, he was too afraid to say the wrong thing, too afraid that Sherlock really didn't want this. He was too afraid to lose what precious little they had left after all they'd been through. Maybe he'd pushed too far already, maybe he'd hurt Sherlock too deeply for him to ever be able to forgive him, for him to ever be able to love him.

"But..." Sherlock prompted.

John looked up at him and reached out to cover the other man's hand with his own. "But," John started, taking a breath, "If you wanted to try... that is, if you wanted..." he shook his head. "Fuck, why does this have to be so hard?" He chuckled self-depreciatingly and to his mortification felt hot tears filling his eyes, he blinked them back, "I've hurt you so badly," he said softly. "I don't know if you can ever forgive me. But if this," he said, gesturing between the two of them, "If you could heal and forgive me, we could-"

"John," Sherlock whispered raggedly, he turned his hand over and gripped John's tightly. "Listen to me, yes?"

John nodded once, steeling himself for Sherlock's rejection. 

"There is nothing for me to forgive. I would do it all, every single thing, again in a heartbeat for you. You don't have to do this for me," Sherlock said, his own voice tight with tears. "I would never ask this of you. You don't have anything to atone for. You don't have to do this for me."

"I'm not trying to atone," John said. "I want this," he confessed, and the words set something loose in his chest and a tear spilled onto his cheek. "I want this," he repeated. "I want late nights solving frustrating cases, I want body parts in the fridge, I want kisses and cuddles by the telly when you're bored and irritable. I want your cold feet tucked against my thighs when we go to bed. I want lazy mornings. I want sex, I want to make love to you over and over in every way we can think of. I want to raise my daughter with you, I want her to grow up with two parents who adore her. I want a wedding, and a honeymoon, I want to retire to Sussex to keep bees with you. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms every night and I want you to be the first thing I see every morning. I want to spend every sad day, every happy day, every frustrated day, _every_  single day of my life; I want it to be spent with you." He shook his head and the tears slipped down his cheeks, "I'm not atoning, I'm being selfish again. I want you, Sherlock. I want you."

"John," Sherlock whispered, his voice catching on a sob a moment before his lips were on John's. His long fingers cupped John's face and he kissed him as if John were going to change his mind at any moment. The corner of the table dug into John's ribs but John couldn't bear the thought of pulling away. "Yes," he gasped.

"Yes?" John asked, drawing back to look at Sherlock, his heart thundering in his ears.

"Yes," Sherlock said with a laugh, leaning in and kissing John's lips again. "Yes," he said against his lips. "To all of those things, a thousand times yes."

"You're brilliant," John said, laughter bubbling up from sheer joy, so bright and warm John thought he'd never felt anything better in his life. "I love you," he said brushing the tears off Sherlock's cheeks.

Sherlock let out another wet giggle and more tears spilled from his eyes, "Say it again," he whispered.

"I," John whispered, leaning in and kissing the tears on his right cheek, "love," he whispered as he brushed his lips over the bridge of Sherlock's nose and pressed them to his left cheek, "you," he finished, pressing his lips to Sherlok's lips achingly sweetly. When he drew back he rested their foreheads together, "I've wait years to say that," he said with a chuckle. "I love you so much, Sherlock Holmes. I always have."

"John," Sherlock whispered, brushing their noses together, "I'd never dared dream," he voice came out hushed and broken, "I'd never dared hope you might," his voice choked and he dropped to his knees in front of John, sliding between his legs to press his body against John's. "I love you, too."

John pulled back far enough to brush the curls back from Sherlock's forehead to look at his upturned face. "How did it take us this long to get here?"

"I don't know," Sherlock whispered, his fingers shaking as they skated down the cable on the front of John's jumper. "John?"

"Yes?" 

"I-" Sherlock started before clearing his throat, his cheeks flushing bright red in the most endearing way possible. "I've never done this before," he said, staring at where his hand rested on John's jumper. "Last night-" Sherlock started before breaking off uncertainly again.

"What about it?" John asked softly, stroking the curls at the nape of Sherlock's neck soothingly.

"I've never... that is, I've never wanted... that," he finished, insecurity leaking through his voice.

"Oh," John said, feeling cold shame wash over his body, "Sherlock, I'm sorry, I should never have assumed you wanted-"

"No," Sherlock interrupted quickly, pressing his lips to John's reassuringly. "No," he said again, "I'm not saying this right. With you, yes," Sherlock grinned at him, "I didn't know what wanting someone was before I knew you. I want... sex," he said softly, his cheeks flushing again and John fell a little more in love with this soft, beautiful man. "With you," he said quickly. "I've just never done it before, and you'll have to help me with this," Sherlock paused, "well, with everything, I expect. But I do have an extensive knowledge-"

John kissed him, stopping the torrent of words and insecurity. "You're perfect. We will do all of this together, everything. We'll teach each other." He tilted Sherlock's chin back so he could kiss him again when a thought occurred to him, "Wait," John said, remembering the display Sherlock had made of himself last night, remembering all they'd done, "Last night was the first time you've ever..."

Sherlock nodded, "Is that a problem?"

"Problem?" John repeated, "No, But I feel like a massive cock."

"Well you certainly have one of those," Sherlock said in a low rumbly voice that made the pit of John's stomach turn to lava, then he pressed his lithe form closer to John.  

"Stop it," John said, swatting Sherlock's side. "I mean, I can't believe last night was your first time. I can't believe that's how you lost your virginity." He buried his face in Sherlock's curls, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Why didn't you tell me?"

"John, you're being ridiculous," Sherlock grumbled. "Virginity is a meaningless social construct."

"It's not," John said despairingly. "I would have done things so much differently."

"How?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Let me show you," John said softly. "Can we try it all over again?"

Sherlock nodded, his cheeks flushing and John thought he'd found a new favorite thing about Sherlock. He brushed his fingers over Sherlock's warm cheeks, then traced his eyebrows with gentle fingers, before sliding to his temples and then his ears. John took Sherlock's earlobes between his thumbs and forefingers, rubbing in gentle circles before letting his fingers trail down Sherlock's jaw.

Sherlock's eyes had drifted shut at John's gentle, borderline reverent touches, soft sighs escaping his lips. John leaned in and brushed his lips over Sherlock's, barely letting their lips touch one another. He repeated the gesture over and over until Sherlock's breathing had sped up and his fingers were clenching in the trousers covering John's thighs. "John, please," he whispered.

John cradled Sherlock's face with his palms, overcome with tenderness for the other man, he tilted Sherlock's head slightly so their lips slotted together seamlessly. A soft, broken whimper escaped from the base of Sherlock's throat, and John's heart ached with love. Slowly, with all of the tenderness he could muster, he moved his lips against Sherlock's, pressing and sliding their lips along one another. He drew back and reangled their heads again so their lips could explore a new angle, then repeated the process over and over again until Sherlock was breathless.

"John," Sherlock whispered, his voice foggy and dazed, when John pulled back.

John stood and pulled Sherlock off the floor, Sherlock tipped into him and John steadied him as Sherlock pressed his lips to John's cheek and rumbled, "bedroom," low in John's ear. 

John was tempted, so tempted, but he shook his head and tugged Sherlock's hands toward the living room, "Not yet," he said softly.

Sherlock's brow furrowed and John quirked a smile at him, "Come on. You'll like it, I promise."

Sherlock nodded and followed him to the living room. John pushed Sherlock onto the sofa so he was sitting in the center and Sherlock looked up at him skeptically, "Trust me," John said.

"I do," Sherlock replied.

"Good," John said, straddling his hips and kneeling on the sofa. John smiled at him and brushed his fingers along Sherlock's cheeks before letting his fingers slip into Sherlock's curls. At the contact, Sherlock's eyes drifted closed and his lips parted. John gently massaged at Sherlock's scalp with his fingertips, Sherlock let out a soft moan, then his eyes flew open to look at John as though he were worried about John’s reaction  

"It's fine," John assured him, molding his lips to Sherlock's for a moment, "Just enjoy. It's all fine," he promised. Sherlock's eyes drifted closed again and John pressed his fingers more firmly against Sherlock's scalp. Another breathy moan escaped but Sherlock's eyes stayed closed and John kissed him in praise.

He kept massaging Sherlock's scalp, occasionally brushing his thumbs over Sherlock's temples. His lips dipped lazily to press against Sherlock's over and over. Gradually, Sherlock's breathing sped up, his hands gripping tighter in John's jumper, and John could feel the hardness of Sherlock's cock pressing up against his arse.

John gave Sherlock's hair a gentle tug and Sherlock moaned as his head followed the unspoken command to tilt back. In response John pressed a row of soft kisses down the length of Sherlock's neck, pausing to lick at the crease between his shoulder and neck. He slid his mouth along the base of his throat before reaching his supernastral notch and kissing up again, pausing to nibble at Sherlock's Adam's apple.

"Ahh," Sherlock whimpered, "John." 

John slipped his fingers deeper into Sherlock's curls and cradled the back of his skull, bringing his lips back to Sherlock's and kissing him sweetly for a moment before letting his tongue slip out and brush across Sherlock's bottom lip.

Sherlock's breath caught, then escaped in a moan as he opened his mouth to grant John access. John kissed him over an over, turning his head to kiss Sherlock from every angle, brushing their noses against one another as he tilted his head. Sherlock's fingers bunched tighter in John's jumper as he tentatively reached his tongue out to touch John's before fleeing immediately back into his own mouth.

John groaned low in his throat and chased Sherlock's tongue with his own, stroking his tongue along Sherlock's and silently encouraging Sherlock to join him.

Slowly, carefully, Sherlock's tongue brushed against John's. John moaned again at the contact and Sherlock kept up the careful experimentation until his tongue could mimick John's movements perfectly, then they truly shared the kiss. Sometimes Sherlock led and explored, and sometimes John did. The two of them kissed and kissed and kissed until John was light-headed and Sherlock was gasping and trembling beneath the cage of John's body. 

John drew back and looked at Sherlock, his heart swelling at the sight of his kiss-swollen lips and frizzy curls, "You're so beautiful," John murmured, brushing Sherlock's curls off his forehead, carefully avoiding his cut.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and he stared at John with dazed, unfocused eyes, "No one's ever said that to me before."

"What?" John asked, distracted by tracing his fingers over the lovely flush rising to Sherlock's delicate skin.

"No one's ever told me I was beautiful," Sherlock murmured, his cheeeks flushing an even deeper red.

"Oh, my love," John murmured, scratching his fingers lightly over Sherlock's scalp because he positively adored the way Sherlock's fingers spasmed at that sort of contact. "You are so lovely," John said, leaning in to press his lips to Sherlock's cheek, "You are the most beautiful, stunning, extraordinary human I've ever known," he murmured, pressing his lips to Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock shuddered under him and John slid his mouth down Sherlock's neck, opening against the soft, smooth skin so his tongue could draw patterns on his skin.

"Hahh," Sherlock moaned, tilting his head back to give John better access.

John found that lovely little freckle on Sherlock's neck, the one he'd want to kiss and nibble at for as long as he could remember, and he did just that, kissing and nibbling at it while Sherlock whimpered and cried out. John gave in to the desire to suck a bruise right over that spot on Sherlock's neck.

As soon as John started to suck, Sherlock's hand came up to hold John's head in place, his head tilting further. "Oh my... Uhh," he whimpered. "John, that feels..."

John released the suction and traced his tongue over that spot. 

"That's amazing," Sherlock whispered. 

John didn't reply, just continued to kiss and lave at the other man's neck before letting his lips trail to that divot at the base of Sherlock's throat once more. He let his tongue flicker there, collecting the dewy drops of perspiration that had formed.

"John, please," Sherlock whimpered.

"Please what?" John asked against his throat before leaning back to look at the other man.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open, "Please take me to bed," he whispered, his cheeks colouring again.

John cupped Sherlock's cheek in his palm and gave him one soft kiss before nodding. "Come on then," he said as he stood up and pulled Sherlock off the sofa. Once they were standing, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and kissed him as he turned their bodies to walk Sherlock backward toward his room.

Sherlock clung to John's shoulders and stumbled over his feet, but John's hands held him steady. They were just outside of Sherlock's bedroom when John pressed him back against the doorway.

"John?" Sherlock murmured against his lips.

"Hmm?" John asked, leaning down to kiss the other man's neck again. 

Sherlock's head thunked back against the wall and he groaned again. "Oh," he whimpered. "Ummm," he paused again, clearly having lost his train of thought. "We seem to have bumped into a wall."

"I know,” John replied and he slid his hands under the hem of his shirt so he could brush against the warm, smooth skin of Sherlock's belly. His hands slid up to Sherlock's nipples and he brushed his thumbs lightly over them until they had puckered into hard nubs that John could roll between his fingers. 

"Oh," Sherlock whispered and his nailed dug through John's jumper as he collapsed against the wall, held in place only by John's hips pining him there. The blush from his cheeks had flooded down his neck as John continued to tease his nipples. Sherlock arched off the wall to grind his erection against John. "That's..." he trailed off to moan breathily, a sound that went straight to John's cock, making his mouth dry. "John, don't stop," Sherlock begged.

John sucked at the bruise he made on Sherlock's neck and pinched lightly at Sherlock's nipples. 

"Ahh," Sherlock's whine slipped out, his jaw dropping as he arched to press into John's touch. With one final squeeze, John let go and Sherlock cried out in despair.

"Don't worry," John murmured, leaning in to touch his lips to Sherlock's once more. "We're not even nearly done yet. Once I have you undressed, I'll suck and nibble at those perfect sensitive nubs," he murmured, tweaking Sherlock's nipples once again for emphasis.

He peeled Sherlock off the wall and maneuvered him into the bedroom, pressing him backward until the backs of Sherlock's knees hit the bed and he toppled over with a soft, "oof," sound. 

John stared down at him for a long moment until Sherlock reached out for him. Then he climbed onto the bed, straddling Sherlock's hips and pressing their mouths together again. Sherlock moaned into the kiss and opened his mouth eagerly, his fingers reaching up and combing through John's hair.

John's hands skimmed Sherlock's sides until he reached the hem of his shirt; then both hands slid under to explore Sherlock's torso. He rucked up Sherlock's shirt, exposing his body and feeling his skin, his muscles pulled taut under his palms. His fingers explored until he reached the scar on Sherlock's chest and John shuddered at the memory of Sherlock being shot and John almost losing him again. He tore his lips from Sherlock's and moved them to where his fingers were, pressing kisses to Sherlock's chest, right over the scar, right over his heart, the heart that had stopped beating.

"John," Sherlock whispered, "It's alright," he said, stroking his fingers through John's hair.

"You almost died," John murmured against his skin, his lips pressing to that spot again as though he could take away the hurt that had happened, as though he could heal the scar. 

"I did die," Sherlock corrected, and John closed his eyes against those horrible words. "But then Moriarty was in my head, telling me you were definitely in danger," Sherlock said, "And I couldn't let anything happen to you."

John sat up and looked down at the other man, "You brought yourself back to life for me?"

"Well it certainly wasn't for me," Sherlock said with a shrug. He brushed his fingers over John's cheek, "You'd moved out, gotten married, and were having a baby. You didn't need me. What did I have to live for?"

John caught Sherlock's wrist in his hand and turned his head to press a kiss to the center of Sherlock's palm. "I needed you," he whispered. He kissed down his wrist, down his arm, pausing for a moment at the sensitive skin on the inside of Sherlock's elbow before continuing to his shoulder. "I've always needed you," he confessed into the skin of Sherlock's neck. "I'm lost without you." He nosed against the soft skin on Sherlock's neck, "I love you so." 

"I love you too," Sherlock said with a smile that could light up the sun.

John cupped his face, his heart thudding painfully in his chest at the sight of that smile, real and honest, open and vulnerable, all for John, only for John. And his heart was so full of light, brimming with warmth and love, that he had no words to be able to express it. Instead he leaned his forehead against Sherlock's as though the words might move from his mind to his counterpart's through osmosis. 

Sherlock's arms wrapped around John's back, stroking lightly up and down John's spine, "I know," Sherlock whispered in reply to the words John hadn't said. "Me too," he breathed as he brushed his nose up and down the length of John's.

"You're perfect," John whispered, dropping his lips to Sherlock's, revelling in the soft sound that Sherlock emitted at the contact. "You're everything," John said, "Let me show you how I love you."

Sherlock shuddered under John, "Yes," he whispered. 

John cupped the back of Sherlock's neck with his right hand and tilted his head back a bit so he could kiss him, opening Sherlock's mouth with his tongue and pouring all of his feelings that he couldn't find words for into the kiss. His left hand stroked down Sherlock's side, softly, slowly, gently, so he could savor the way his touch made Sherlock's mouth move sloppily against his, his breath coming out in short, soft puffs at the way John was touching him.

"John," Sherlock moaned, and John's heart clenched at the way Sherlock said his name, as though he were something incredible, unbelievable.

"I love you," John whispered because he didn't have any other words.

Sherlock was about to reply, John could feel it in the intake of Sherlock's breath, but John brushed his fingers feather-light along the outline of Sherlock's cock through his thin cotton pajama bottoms. Sherlock's head tilted back and his body arched into the touch.

John continued to tease his fingers along Sherlock's shaft, a fire igniting in the pit of his own stomach as he watched the flush spread across Sherlock's cheeks and down his neck. John pressed open mouth kisses along Sherlock's jaw and scraped his teeth against the stubble. "Do you like this?" John murmured as he slid his lips from Sherlock's jaw to ear.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded, his hips pressing us against John's teasing fingers. John found the head of Sherlock's cock and brushed the back of his fore and middle finger over it. 

"John," Sherlock gasped, "Touch me," he begged, his fingers tugging at John's hair. "Please," he whispered. "Please, I need your hands on me, I'm on fire. It's burning me alive."

John pressed a kiss to the skin behind Sherlock's ear and let his fingers move to the top of Sherlock's pajama bottoms, he brushed along that strip of skin and Sherlock's fingers spasmed in John's hair. "Yes," he begged, "yes."

John slid his hand inside Sherlock's trousers and brushed his fingertips across the head of Sherlock's cock. "Like this?" John asked teasingly, knowing full well that it wasn't enough and Sherlock needed more. 

 But Sherlock surprised him, he didn't demand for more, instead he breathed John's name and his arms wrapped around John's neck, drawing him impossibly closer. "That's amazing," he whispered to John.

"You're amazing," John said as he wrapped his fingers around the silky-smooth, heated flesh of Sherlock's cock. John brushed their noses together again, "I'm going to stop," he told Sherlock. "But only because I desperately want you naked, I want to see you, and touch you." He brushed his lips along Sherlock's cheek until he reached the other man's ear, "I want to taste you," he murmured as Sherlock shuddered against him.

Sherlock didn't reply, but his breathing was ragged and his cock was twitching in John's loose grasp. John slid his lips down Sherlock's neck and felt his pulse hammering away even as John slid his hand out of his pyjamas. Sherlock let out a soft, disappoint sound.

"You're so perfect," John said as he sat up and looked down at the other man. Sherlock's eyes fluttered open to look at John, his pupils huge and dark, curls positively riotous where they were fanned out on the pillow beneath him like a halo, a blush was staining his porcelain skin. "So beautiful," John murmured, brushing a thumb along Sherlock's cheekbone.

Sherlock averted his gaze in a gesture that John couldn't help but label as shyness, even though he'd never imagined that was something he'd call the other man.

John wiggled back so he wasn't pinning Sherlock's hips to the mattress, "Sit up for me, darling."

Sherlock flushed and a pleased smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"What?" John asked softly, a matching grin pulling at his own mouth.

"Nothing," Sherlock murmured, half self-consciously as he sat up and wrapped his arms around John's waist.

John stroked Sherlock's curls back from his forehead, "Tell me," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the skin he'd revealed. "Please?"

Sherlock let out a puff of air and buried his face in John's neck. John carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls and couldn't help grinning. "I like it," Sherlock said, his lips moving against John's collarbone.

"Like what?" John asked.

"When you call me..." he started, then his voice trailed off.

"Call you what, sweetheart? Tell me and I'll call you that everyday," he promised. 

Sherlock hummed and squirmed impossibly closer to John, pressing his face into John's skin. "Anything," he mumbled.

"Ah," John said, "You just like pet names?"

Sherlock nodded against John's shoulder but still refused to look at him.

"Do you have a favorite, love?" John asked softly, trying out another name to see what Sherlock might like best.

Sherlock shrugged, "It makes me feel," he whispered so softly that John had to strain to hear him, "Safe," he said after a beat, then he added "Cherished."

"You're just impossibly sweet," John murmured, slipping his fingers under Sherlock's shirt and trailing them up his back. "You are so loved my darling," he said as he pressed his lips to Sherlock's curls. "So, so cherished."

"John," Sherlock whispered back, and John felt dampness on his skin and Sherlock inhaled a sharp breath.

John drew back and brushed his thumbs along Sherlock's cheekbones, catching his tears, "Alright?"

Sherlock nodded, "It's stupid. I just love you."

John chuckled, "Is that all?"

Sherlock huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, "You know what I mean."

"I just love you too," John said, pressing a kiss to the left of the cut on Sherlock's forehead, then his nose, then his lips. "Now," he said, "Let me get you undressed and have my way with you."

Sherlock laughed and it made John's heart sing, "Yes, alright," Sherlock replied through a chuckle.

John sat back on Sherlock's thighs and reached for the hem of Sherlock's shirt, he drew it over the other man's head, feeling a bit as though he were unveiling a masterpiece.

Sherlock stared at the corner of the bed, chewing nervously at his bottom lip. John brushed his fingers along Sherlock's collarbones and shoulders, then he let them skim over the hard planes of Sherlock's chest and linger a moment on his dusky nipples. "You're so beautiful," John breathed, his eyes flickering up in time to watch the flush return to Sherlock's cheeks.

"Do you really think so?" he asked sincerely, looking up at John from under his eyelashes. 

John pressed a kiss to his lips and cradled his head as he laid him back across the mattress. "Yes I do," he murmured. "I think you are the most beautiful person I've ever known. You're like the night sky," he said as he slid his lips along Sherlock's neck. "Brilliant and breathtaking," he said between kisses. "You seem like something ethereal, hard to imagine that you're even real, that there could be something this beautiful, and if there is surely I shouldn't be allowed to touch it.

"You're beautiful like the sunrise," John continued, pressing kisses down the center of Sherlock's chest. He lingered over his heart as he elaborated, "You bring light to my world, illuminating the things that were dark, breathing new life and hope and promise." 

John slipped his lips over to one of Sherlock's nipples, flicking his tongue over it and sucking lightly as Sherlock moaned as gasped, "You're like a flower," John said softly. "A long, delicate one, a calla lily perhaps," he murmured before sucking the other nipple into his mouth and groaning as Sherlock's hips jerked against him. He drew back and blew lightly over the pebbled flesh. "Graceful, bending, and swaying, sensitive to the way the breeze blows. Dewy and soft, fragile and delicate. It feels like I could break you with my hands, bruise you and damage you with my careless words," John had to fight for composure for a moment before he could continue, "And the trust," he whispered, his heart in his throat, "The trust it must take to be open, and beautiful, and vulnerable to me, it's incredible." He pressed his lips to Sherlock's chest and could feel him trembling.

John sat up and brushed his fingers under Sherlock's eyes to collect the tears before replacing his fingers with his lips, "You're beautiful like the sea," he said. "Strong and powerful, always there, reaching out to touch the shore, washing away all the broken bits, all the bits that hide who I really am."

He pressed his lips tenderly against Sherlock's, "You're beautiful like the ocean," he said. "Drawing me in over and over, never ceasing your tenderness and your love for me, always drawing me in again and again, no matter how I may hurt you." 

"John," Sherlock whispered and John could hear the tears choking him.

"You are the most beautiful person I have ever, or will ever, know," John whispered. "And if you'll let me, I'll spend every day for the rest of my life telling you that," he promised. 

"John?" Sherlock murmured.

"Mhhmmm?" John murmured as he trailed kisses all over Sherlock's face until he landed on those Cupid bow lips.

Sherlock kissed him back for the moment John's lips spent lingering on his, "I love you too," he said as John lips landed on his chin.

John hummed happily at him and let his lips trail down Sherlock's long neck and Sherlock's body melted under his. "That's it," John murmured, "I love you like this," he said softly. "Soft and sweet, so perfect." He continued to slide down Sherlock's torso, pausing to give due devotion to his peaked nipples.

John ran the flat of his tongue over the first one before pointing his tongue and flicking over that sensitive nub over and over, "Oh," Sherlock gasped, squirming under John. John closed his lips around his nipple, sucking lightly and drawing it further into his mouth. Then he gently bit down and Sherlock cried out, his fingers clenching in John's hair.

"Someday," John murmured as he moved to the other nipple, a thrill coursing through the pit of his belly at the word _someday_  because it meant they had time now, he pressed a chaste kiss to the other nipple, "Someday, I'm going to make you come just from licking and sucking at your nipples. I think you're sensitive enough for it to work."

Sherlock moaned and let out an incoherent string of syllables that John took to be assent.

John started by nibbling at this one, drawing it to a tight peak between his teeth before closing his lips around it and sucking hard. "John." Sherlock pleaded, and John marveled at the way Sherlock could say so many things, just by saying his name. He flicked his tongue over his nipple and Sherlock's body arched, drawing taut like a bow. Sherlock let out a high whine and John decided it was high time to move on. 

He drew back and blew over the pebbled flesh before allowing his lips to resume their downward journey. He moved his lips against Sherlock's rib cage, counting the bones with his lips as he descended. John slid his lips to the center of Sherlock's belly, just below his rib cage and his hands came up to bracket his ribs, stroking tenderly against his smooth flesh. He kissed down, down, down, over Sherlock's concave belly. He was just an inch above the other man's belly button when Sherlock's breath hitched and a giggle spilled from his lips.

John glanced up at the sweet sound, "Are you ticklish?"

Sherlock shook his head, "Not since I was a child, but I am just now."

John chuckled and placed a couple of soft kisses to Sherlock's belly and Sherlock squirmed under him a smile splitting his face, until John reached his belly button. Then John dipped his tongue into that oblong hole and the smile vanished as his teeth clamped down on his lower lip. John flicked his tongue against his flesh and Sherlock whimpered.

He pressed a kiss to the swell just below his belly button and traced the trail of hair down to the tops of Sherlock's pyjama bottoms. He let his lips trace over the sensitive strip of flesh from one of Sherlock's sharp hips to the other and Sherlock shuddered.

"John," Sherlock whimpered uncertainly, "Can you..." he trailed off, suddenly shy again.

"Yes, love," John murmured. "Yes." He pressed one more kiss to Sherlock's belly before climbing off the bed, he slid his fingers under the band of Sherlock's bottoms, "Lift."

Sherlock bit his bottom lip as he arched his back, letting John bare him to his gaze.

John pulled his trousers off and stared at the naked glory of the man before him. Even with his legs half hanging off the bed from the way they'd landed earlier, he was a sight to behold. "Onto the bed," John said, his voice coming out darker and rougher than he'd imagined it would. 

Sherlock nodded and squirmed until he was at the top of the bed, his head resting on the pillows. He angled his left leg a bit, partially hiding his erection from John's gaze.

John looked up at the other man's face, then. "Don't hide yourself from me," he begged before pulling off his own jumper and tshirt, wondering if Sherlock was feeling a bit unfairly exposed. After he'd freed himself of his shirts he slipped out of his trousers and pants. 

Sherlock bit his lip and reached out to take John's hand, "You're so..." Sherlock started before shrugging helplessly as John joined him again, pressing their bodies together. "Strong," Sherlock said, brushing his fingers over John's biceps, "Compact," he added as his fingers trailed down John's back. "Aesthetically pleasing," he said as he pressed their lips together.

John kissed him back for a moment, "Thank you," he said with a grin when he pulled back. He sat up so he was kneeling near Sherlock's thighs, "Spread your legs for me, darling," he said, tracing the tips of his fingers up Sherlock's thigh. "Let me see you."

Sherlock slowly spread his legs, tilting his head into the fist he had on the pillow beside him to hide his blush.

"You're beautiful," John said softly, as he moved so he was kneeling between Sherlock's thighs. He cupped his thighs in his palms and slid his hands up until his thumbs could trace the crease between Sherlock groin and thighs. Sherlock's legs fell further apart at the feeling and his lips parted in anticipation. John let the fingers of his left hand trail through the course hair at the base of Sherlock's long, slender member. "Beautiful," he breathed again.

Then he held the base of Sherlock's cock steady and brought his lips to touch the crown of Sherlock's cock, wet and dewy with his precome. He let the tip of his tongue slip past his lips and he flicked it against the head.

"John," Sherlock moaned, his hands moving to tug at his curls, "Oh," he whimpered, "I-"

John let his lips part around the head and he sucked at the tip of Sherlock's cock while he flicked his tongue. Sherlock arched his back and he made a soft, desperate noise in the back of his throat.

John pulled back and flicked his tongue along the head again just to watch Sherlock squirm before saying, "It's been a while since I've done this."

"What?" Sherlock asked breathlessly, his chest heaving as he sat up to look at John.

"Well, oral in general on a man, but this in particular," he said before opening his mouth and consciously relaxing his throat as he took Sherlock in. He slid down, down, down taking in Sherlock's cock until it hit the back of his throat and he swallowed around the head to stop himself from gagging. 

Sherlock emitted a hoarse, strangled cry, "Oh," he whimpered. "Oh John." He gasped as John applied a bit of suction and slid back up his cock. "John," Sherlock murmured.

John pulled back, "Shit," he murmured.

"What?" Sherlock asked, his chest heaving, eyes wild. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't bring condoms with me," John said, "Uggh."

"It's fine," Sherlock said, pushing against John's shoulder, "Let me up."

John did and Sherlock reached over and dug into his nightstand drawer. He shoved things aside before pulling out a handful of of condoms victoriously and slapping them onto the nightstand.

John watched him with amusement, "Where did those come from?"

"They were in your old room when I repurposed it," Sherlock said before laying back on the bed and staring up at John. 

John laughed, "I'll be wanting to hear that story later but I'm glad you kept them." He grabbed one of the condoms and said, "Now where were we?" 

He put the condom in his mouth stretching the center with his tongue, it had been awhile since he'd managed this.

"John?" Sherlock said, distracting John from the task at hand. "I might be mistaken, but I don't think that's how that works."

John would have laughed, but he didn't want to choke on the condom in his mouth. He grasped the root of Sherlock's cock in his hand and lowered his mouth to Sherlock's cock, rolling the condom down his shaft with his lips and tongue.

"Oh," Sherlock groaned, his fingers fluttering uncertainly in John's hair. 

John finished rolling the condom down the last inch and a half with his fingers. 

"That," Sherlock said through a whimper, "was hot."

John chuckled around the head of Sherlock's cock, sucking lightly before tilting his head a bit so he could swallow down Sherlock's cock. The head hit the back of John's throat and he relaxed his throat muscles and let his head sink down even further.

Sherlock wailed, "John!" He gasped and his hands fluttered around John's shoulders as though he wasn't sure where they should be. "John, yes," he begged.

John slid the rest of the way down Sherlock's cock until his nose was brushing against Sherlock's groin.

"John," Sherlock panted.

John swallowed around his cock and started to slide back up, sucking and slurping at the saliva trying to escape his mouth. Sherlock's thighs were quivering and shuddering under John's palms. 

He suckled at the head of Sherlock's cock for long moments while he caught his breath again, as he reached for Sherlock's hands. He pulled off, "You can have your hands in my hair, if you like," he encouraged softly. Then he sank back down on Sherlock's cock, a bit quicker this time, opening his throat to let the other man in. Sherlock's fingers spasmed against John's scalp and his hips jerked up off the mattress, pressing into John's mouth. 

"Sorry," Sherlock gasped but John just stroked his thumbs over Sherlock's hip bones and swallowed around his cock to stop himself from gagging. He started to slide back to catch a breath before pressing back down again. Sherlock's hips rocked up toward him in tiny unconscious movements. With a groan, John started to bob his head in time with Sherlock's thrusts.

He worked Sherlock's cock with his mouth over and over, sliding up and down, sucking and licking at him until Sherlock was crying out. "John," he gasped, his fingers clenching in John's hair, "John, stop," he moaned. "I'm going to orgasm," he gasped, his thighs tensing under John's palms.

John groaned and sucked particularly hard as he slid his mouth down the entirety of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock let out a hoarse shout and John could feel the ejaculate pulsing out of Sherlock's member. He groaned around him and slid back far enough to breathe even as he worked Sherlock's cock with his tongue.

"John," Sherlock whimpered, his entire body shuddering and jerking under him. "Oh."

When Sherlock's cock had gone soft on his tongue, John slipped off. He held Sherlock's member with gentle fingers as he drew the condom off, tying it off and tossing it toward the bin on the side of the bed. 

He slid up to the top of the bed once more, and combed his fingers through Sherlock's sweat soaked curls. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's temple and Sherlock's eyes fluttered open to look at him. "Spectacular," Sherlock breathed softly as his fingers brushed through John's fringe.

John smiled at him and thought he'd never get tired of this. He'd never tire of the noises Sherlock made, never tire of the wonder in his voice, never tire of the affection in his eyes. 

Sherlock groaned and rolled onto his side, draping an arm over John's ribs, "I can't believe you did that."

John chuckled, "What?"

"All of that!" Sherlock exclaimed, brushing his nose against the length of John's. "You Dr. John-I'm-not-gay-in-case-anyone-out-there-still-cares-Watson."

"That's quite a middle name, I've no idea how my parents fit it on my birth certificate," John teased. _"Technically,"_  he said, "I'm bi. And it's none of their damn business. Besides, who wants to tell Irene Adler she's right, anyway."

Sherlock laughed and kissed him softly, he wrapped his arms around John and sighed against his lips. 

"I love you like this," John said, stroking through Sherlock's curls. "I mean, I've always known I loved you when you were out deducing shit and being clever. That is obviously hot as hell."

Sherlock laughed, "Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah," John said. "Since day one. And I've always known I loved you when you were sulking. That pout," John groaned and brushed their noses together. "There were days it took everything in me not to crawl over you on the couch and kiss that sexy pout right off your lips."

Sherlock laughed, "You're having me on."

"I'm not," John said, "Truly." He stroked his fingers up Sherlock's spine, "And I've always known I love you when you're sad. When Irene died or all of those times when you thought I wasn't paying attention. Or after you came back from the dead. I've always known I loved you when you're sad."

Sherlock sighed and pressed closer without a word.

"But this," John said, kissing Sherlock's temple, "I love you like this. Soft and pliant. All of your defenses down. Nothing separating us. I love you like this."

"John, I know I've mocked you for the poetic, flowery way you've written to your girlfriends in the past, but..." he trailed off shyly.

"But..." John prompted.

"I like it when it's directed at me," he blurted.

John laughed, "I know. I always imagined you would. You do so love to be complimented, my dear one."

Sherlock hummed and sat up a bit to look at John, he brushed his fingers through John's fringe, "So, are you going to fuck me now, or what?"

John spluttered out a laugh, "You've only just come, you can't possibly be ready for round two."

Sherlock looked at John under his eyelashes and John knew he was in trouble, "Please," Sherlock said softly, trailing his fingers over John's chest. "I want you inside of me," he whispered. "I want to feel you moving in and around me. It was so incredible last night."

John laughed, "You play innocent, but you know exactly what you're doing, looking at me like that."

"Well, you don't have to," Sherlock said, he pulled back and John could see the walls Sherlock protected himself with slipping up. "I'm not trying to coerce you-"

John kissed him, "You're not coercing me," he took Sherlock's hand and brought it down to his raging hard on. "Darling, does this feel like I don't want you?" Sherlock's fingers twisted so he could grip John's cock. "I want you, honestly, you should never doubt that." He pressed his lips to Sherlock's, "But I don't have to fuck you. There are a thousand things we could do."

"John," Sherlock said with a smirk in his voice, "I know what you said about me being delicate, and it was beautiful and poetic. It was true about how I..." he cleared his throat, "How I feel, my emotions," he said waving a hand vaguely. "But I'm not made of glass. You won't break my body."

"I know," John replied, remembering just how hard he'd fucked the other man last night. "But I don't want you to feel obligated."

Sherlock gave John's shoulder a shove and John landed flat on his back with a surprised noise escaping his mouth. Before he could blink, Sherlock had straddled his lap and was pressing his naked arse against John's erection. He planted his hands firmly on John's chest and circled his hips, a low groan escaping his lips. John couldn't help but think he was ridiculously beautiful. "Trust me," Sherlock said, his voice dark and velvety as his head tipped back in apparent pleasure. "I feel many things, but obligation is not one of them."

John growled, and in a move he hadn't practiced in a while, he flipped the two of them, pinning Sherlock to the bed beneath him once more. He trapped Sherlock's arms up over his head and bent to kiss him. His tongue slicked along Sherlock's lips, demanding entrance and Sherlock attempted to move his arms, presumably to wrap around John's neck, but John kept them pinned there.

Sherlock's body went completely pliant under John's and me moaned. John drew back and Sherlock stared up at him with wide, dark eyes. "Please, I need to feel you, inside of me, around me, everywhere."

John leaned in and kissed him again and Sherlock lifted his legs to wrap around John's waist, angling his hips like he was trying to get John's cock inside of him. John wrapped his arms under Sherlock's shoulders, tangling their limbs and bodies together. 

"It's completely unfair for you to feel this good," Sherlock murmured from where his lips were mashed against John's neck.

John chuckled and rubbed his hands down Sherlock's spine, "You feel perfect, too. Made to fit in my arms."

"You are hopelessly romantic," Sherlock said with a huff and a laugh.

"Do you mind?" John asked, leaning back to look at Sherlock's face.

Sherlock shook his head, "What I am about to say never leaves this room, but I actually find I quite enjoy it." 

"Your secret's safe with me," John said. He let his hands wander down Sherlock's body until they reached his arse. He squeezed the firm, supple flesh in his palms and Sherlock gave a groan, his flaccid cock twitching against John's hip. "Alright," John murmured, pressing one more lingering kiss to Sherlock's lips before pulling back. "Roll over for me."

Sherlock flushed but did as John asked, presenting his plump backside to John. John cupped both of his hands around Sherlock's bottom and massaged, "You really do have a fantastic arse."

Sherlock laughed and shuffled a bit so that he could rest his head on his forearms.

John slid his hands up Sherlock's spine, noticing the scars he hadn't been able to see in the dark last night. He'd first seen them after Sherlock had been shot, he'd wanted to ask about them then and he wanted to ask about them now, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to spoil the mood. He settled for pressing kisses along Sherlock's spine, draping himself over Sherlock's back, and burying his nose in the other man's curls. 

"John," Sherlock murmured contentedly, arching his back like a cat being petted.

John hummed at him in amusement, "You're spectacular." He scraped his teeth across Sherlock's nape and the other man groaned and arched into him.

John traced his lips and teeth down Sherlock's back, kissing and nipping at the other man's skin. Sherlock let out a gurgling groan and spread his legs wantonly for John in invitation as he neared his sacrum. "Please."

"Begging, too," John murmured, leaning in and nipping at Sherlock's bottom.

Sherlock let out an undignified squeak and then a moan and John couldn't resist putting his mouth all over Sherlock's buttocks, sucking and nibbling, licking and kissing at Sherlock's cheeks. Sherlock cried out under the assault, moaning and whimpering.

John kissed the crease between Sherlock's bottom and thigh and slid his lips over toward the crease between Sherlock's buttocks. He kissed him, then opened his lips so his top lip could slip in between his buttocks. 

Sherlock entire body froze and he stopped breathing completely. When he did exhale, it was John's name.

John withdrew his lips and brushed his thumbs along the crease instead, "Alright?" 

Sherlock peaked over his shoulder at him, "What are you going to do?"

John grinned at him, he knew he probably looked completely predatory and he spared a moment's thought, hoping he wouldn't scare Sherlock off. "I'm going to spread you wide with my fingers and then I am going to kiss and lick at your beautiful little hole until it's loose and relaxed and your cock is so hard it's dripping."

Sherlock's cheeked turned bright red, and he hid his face partially in his arms, "Really?"

John nodded and pressed his lips close to the crease of Sherlock's arse again, "Unless you don't want me to."

Sherlock his his face in his arms, "I want you to," he murmured, or at least John though that was what he said through the arms in the way.

"Was that a yes?" John asked with a fond chuckle.

Sherlock huffed and turned his head to the side to say, "yes." Before immediately hiding his face once more. 

John spread Sherlock's buttocks wide with his fingers, his own cock twitching at the way Sherlock let out a soft whimper and his hips wriggled in embarrassment. Then he leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Sherlock's pucker. He lingered for just a moment before drawing back slightly and just letting his breath ghost over Sherlock's hole.

Sherlock let out a soft, breathy sound and all of the tension flooded from his body. 

John couldn't help but smile as he leaned in once more. He let his tongue sneak out and he flicked it over Sherlock's hole, teasingly tracing from the top of his pucker to the bottom before heading back the other way.

"Oh," Sherlock whimpered, before breathing Joh's name in disbelief.

John didn't reply, he merely flattened his tongue and gave Sherlock's hole a long, broad stroke. He let his mouth move lower so his tongue could rub against Sherlock's perineum, then slide up to his tailbone. John repeated that gesture a few times, soaking that strip of flesh with his saliva and Sherlock moaned and spread his legs even further. 

"Joh-uhhn." Sherlock moaned, "I can't," he started before gasping as John's tongue moved back to circle his hole. "I don't-" a groan interrupted his thoughts as John rolled his tongue against his hole in a wave-like motion. "That feels-" he started before breaking off because John had pressed the tip of his tongue ever so gently against the apex of his pucker, he teased it in just a bit and Sherlock stopped breathing. Sherlock's breath rushed out, "That's amazing."

John slowly breached Sherlock, pressing in bit by bit and wiggling his tongue against the other man's hole as Sherlock panted and thrashed against the sheets. He spread Sherlock further and delved deeper, pressing his tongue in as deep as he could, his nose pressing against Sherlock's tailbone. Then he drew out.

Sherlock cried out as John drew back, "Please," he begged. "John, please don't stop."

"Darling, we've hardly begun," John murmured, before letting his lips descend on the other man's hole once again. He kissed Sherlock's hole again, but the kisses were wet, sloppy, open mouthed ones this time. His tongue fluttered against Sherlock's hole in a crude parody of the kisses they'd shared earlier this afternoon. Then he flicked teasingly in and out, driving Sherlock's cries higher and higher.

Sherlock gasped and cried out, tiny utterances of "Oh, oh!" escaping his lips everytime John's tongue so much as touched that puckered bit of flesh.

John couldn't say how long he spent teasing the other man's hole this way, Sherlock shuddered and bucked under him, his body beseeching John over and over and eventually John gave in. He pointed his tongue and pressed at the center of his body once more. He met little resistance as his tongue slid forward half and inch or so. He rolled his tongue from inside Sherlock's body, circling and relaxing his hole as his palms massaged his buttocks. He withdrew his tongue and went back to flicking it against his entrance, teasing him so he could listen to the way Sherlock whimpered and cried out longer.

Then he pressed forward again, narrowing his tongue and breeching that half inch once more.

"Yes," Sherlock gasped "Please, yes. Inside," he begged.

John was never one to refuse the other man, so he drew back slightly before pressing in further, he kept up this slow, measured progress and Sherlock wailed and begged, his body strung tight and shaking beneath John's hands and mouth. Finally, he'd pressed his tongue in as far as he could reach and he sealed his lips around Sherlock's hole and sucked.

Sherlock cried out, his hips pressing back against John, trying to take him deeper. "John," he begged. "Please, I'm hard. I'm so hard, I need you inside of me. Please!" 

John wasn't quite ready to give up his prize just yet. He worked his tongue in and out of Sherlock's body, circling inside and stretching him, coaxing his quivering muscles to relax. He drew back and slurped obscenely at Sherlock's rim, groaning deep in his throat at the way the other man squirmed and whimpered.

"John, please," he begged, a broken whimper slipping out slipping from his lips.

John finally took pity on him and drew back. "The noises you make," John groaned as he draped himself over Sherlock's back and ground his ridiculously hard cock against Sherlock's arse for a long moment. He was very glad that he'd gotten off with Sherlock last night, or this would probably have been over already.

Sherlock arched his back and spread his legs further still to invite John closer. "Inside," he whimpered.

"Well, not just yet, darling," John said, reaching over toward the nightstand to grab the lube Sherlock had left there along with another condom. He sat back on his heels and pressed Sherlock's chest gently toward the bed, "Better?"

"Yes," Sherlock responded quickly. "Anything. Anything you want is better."

"Anything, hmm?" John murmured feeling drunk on the trust Sherlock was showing him, the power he was being freely given.

"Yes," Sherlock affirmed, "Anything."

John didn't respond, he found he couldn't because he was so choked up with sentiment. He popped the cap on the lube bottle and dribbled it over his fingers, he held Sherlock steady with his right hand and gently rubber his index and middle fingers over Sherlock's hole. The other man's entire body shuddered and he let out a high pitched wailing sort of sound.

"Oh," he moaned, pressing back against John fingers, "John, yes."

"You're extraordinary," John murmured as he trailed his fingers down the cleft between Sherlock's buttocks until he reached his heavy bollocks. He rolled them in his palm for a moment, spreading warm, slick lube on them.

"Ah," Sherlock cried, his legs spreading further as he pressed his forehead against his arms. "John," he cried out as John gave them a gentle tug and squeeze.

"Do you like that, sweet boy?" John murmured, not entirely sure where that pet name came from, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind if the way he moaned and nodded was anything to go by. John poured a bit more lube on his fingers and slid his fingers forward to stroke Sherlock's straining erection.

"Ahhhn," Sherlock's voice rose higher and more desperate as John closed loosely around his cock and stroked him teasingly. "John," he gasped. "Oh, please," he begged, "Please."

John groaned and pressed a gentle kiss to the small of Sherlock's back, giving him one more gentle stroke before sliding his hand back, pausing to rub firmly at Sherlock's perineum and listen to him moan. He drizzled a bit more lube over his fingers and returned them to Sherlock's hole. He teased around his puckered entrance, stroking and rubbing over that skin.

"John," Sherlock gasped, and it said more than just his name, it was a sort of pleading, a sort of disbelief, a sort of joy that resonated in the depths of John's being.

"Yes," he replied before pressing his forefinger gently inside of the other man. He slipped in past the muscles with very little resistance and it seemed to take them both a bit by surprise as they froze.

"John." Sherlock murmured, his voice full of wonder.

"Sherlock," he whispered back, resting his forehead on the other man's back for a long moment that seemed to extend into eternity. "I-" John started before cutting himself off, unsure what he'd meant to say.

"Me too," Sherlock said, his voice harsh, "Don't stop."

John nodded, even though Sherlock couldn't see him and let his finger sink the entire way into Sherlock's hole before drawing it back out slowly and repeating the motion. Each time his finger sunk entirely into Sherlock's body Sherlock let out a soft "hnngh," sound that John positively adored, so he continued; pressing his finger in and drawing it out over and over, just to hear that noise. The noise got higher and higher and he watched enraptured as Sherlock's fingers clenched and unclenched in the sheets. "You're exquisite," John murmured, bending to kiss the spot where his thigh met his bottom.

"I-" Sherlock whimpered, "You're-" he groaned. "Ohh," he exhaled softly and John thought again that he adored this man soft and gentle, at a loss for words, falling apart in John's arms.

"You're perfect," John told him.

"Hnngh," Sherlock whimpered in reply, his body pushing back on John's fingers again. 

John withdrew his finger entirely and Sherlock cried out, "Shh," John soothed as he squeezed a bit more lube his finger. "It's alright," he assured. "I'll take care of you my love, I promise." He pressed his finger inside of Sherlock's hole again, circling his finger around his rim to spread him further before pressing in and doing the same.

"More, John," he begged, "Please, more."

"Not yet," John said softly. And it wasn't because Sherlock's body wasn't ready for more, it was because John wasn't ready to leave this stage yet. He wanted to keep them suspended in this and every moment as long as humanly possible, then extend it further.

He stroked along Sherlocks hot, slick walls, exploring as far as his finger could reach. He drew patterns into the flesh inside of Sherlock's body, flexing his finger one way and then the other until Sherlock was all but writhing, panting and whimpering, sweat glistening all over his body and rolling down his back. John trailed his fingers up his spine and into Sherlock's curls, scratching against his scalp lightly.

"John, please," Sherlock groaned raggedly, "Please, I'm dying."

John withdrew his finger again and gave Sherlock's curls a gentle tug.

"Don't stop," Sherlock pleaded, looking over his shoulder at John with huge eyes.

"I'm not," John promised, he squeezed more lube onto his fingers and rubbed both against Sherlock's entrance.

"Yes," Sherlock moaned as he turned to face the headboard once more. 

John teased just his middle finger into Sherlock's hole, it was thicker after all.

"John," Sherlock groaned, "I-" his voice broke off in frustration and he tugged sharply at his curls.

"Alright," John murmured soothingly, he pressed a kiss to Sherlock's tailbone just above where his finger was at work. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'm being selfish." He drew his middle finger back far enough that he could carefully breach Sherlock with two fingers.

"Aaghhh," Sherlock gurgled. "Yes. Oh!"

John pressed his fingers all the way into Sherlock's body as he moved to cover Sherlock's body with his own. He laved kisses along Sherlock's neck as he worked his fingers in and out. "You're remarkable," John murmured.

Sherlock shuddered and turned his head toward John, blindly searching for John's lips with his own. John obliged him, of course, angling his body and stretching so their lips could connect awkwardly. His fingers stilled for a moment as his lips moved against Sherlock's and the other man drew back. "Don't stop," he chastised.

John laughed and pressed one more kiss to Sherlock's lips before moving back so he could press a row of kisses along Sherlock's spine as he fingers resumed their thrusting. He pressed in and crooked his fingers, unerringly pressing against his prostate. 

"Johhhn," Sherlock moaned. "Oh," he whimpered as John rubbed his fingers in a slow, delicious circle against that sensitive bundle of nerves. "Yes."

John pressed his lips against Sherlock's back as he drew his fingers out before sliding them back in and brushing tantalizingly over Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock whimpered and rocked back against John's hand, urging him to speed up and brush his prostate more firmly.

"You are so beautiful," John said as he scissored his fingers.

"John," Sherlock whimpered, his body shuddering. "Yes."

John let his tongue wander along Sherlock's back before pressing it in beside his fingers and wiggling against the rim of his hole.

"John," Sherlock gasped, "That-" he stopped to groan as John crooked his fingers to touch his prostate even as his tongue fluttered against his entrance. "That is the most fantastic thing I've ever felt."

John drew back and kissed his entrance before adding more lube to his ring finger and pressing that into Sherlock's hole, too.

"Ohh," Sherlock practically shouted, his voice hoarse from crying out. "Yes, John. More!"

John let his lips slick up Sherlock's spine and his fingers curled to rub against Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock let out a high whimpering sound and his hips bucked at the contact, pressing forward and back to fuck John's fingers. John watched in awe and set up a counter rhythm letting Sherlock writhe on his digits. 

After a long moment, he caught Sherlock's hips with his right hand and pressed his tongue to the other man's hole again. "John!" he cried, "Please!"

John slowly pressed the tip of his tongue in alongside his fingers, stretching Sherlock wider still as he rolled his tongue against his opening.

"John," Sherlock whimpered, his body quaking as John spread his fingers and his tongue dipped between, flickering against his sensitive rim. "John, I can't-" Sherlock groaned, "My legs-" he paused to whimper as John sucked his rim, "I'm shaking," he cried. 

John finally took pity on him, "Alright, love," he murmured, his lips brushing against Sherlock's hole with his words. He pulled back and removed his fingers, "Lay on your side," he murmured as Sherlock groaned in protest. "Come on," he instructed, guiding Sherlock onto his side. He reached over Sherlock to the nightstand, grabbing a condom and pausing to press a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock turned his head and their lips met for a long moment.

When John drew back he brushed his nose along Sherlock's and stroked his thumb over Sherlock's breastbone. "I love you."

Sherlock gave a pleased hum before murmuring back, "I love you, too."

Sherlock's eyes were soft and happy, every defenses he'd ever had in place was completely gone; John wanted to see him always look like this. "You're gorgeous," John said before he could stop himself.

Sherlock laughed and rolled his eyes, but his cheeks flushed at the praise none the less.

John laughed, too, "I can't help it. You are. I can't get over how perfect you are. The way you're looking at me, I love you."

Sherlock leaned back and up to press his lips to John's, "I love you too. Now will you please put your cock inside of me?"

"I would like nothing better," John told him as he opened the condom and rolled it down before stroking some lube over himself. He moved so his body was pressed against Sherlock's, his chest firmly fitted against Sherlock's back. He slid his right arm under Sherlock's neck and wrapped it around his chest as his left grasped Sherlock's hip and drew him back so his arse was cradled by John's pelvis.

Sherlock groaned and rubbed against John like a cat in heat, "This is probably one of the best ideas you've ever had."

"I'm glad you approve," John said, his lips brushing against Sherlock's shoulder. He took his own cock in his hand and brushed it over Sherlock's hole.

"Yes, John, please," Sherlock begged, his breath catching and his hips trying to press back impossibly closer. Sherlock reached back to grasp John's hip to pull him in faster.

"No," John said in a soft but firm voice. "You are not going to rush this. We did the rushed bit last night." He ran his palms along Sherlock's abdomen, caressing his quivering flesh under his fingers. "I'm not letting you come until you're shuddering and begging."

Sherlock tilted his head into the kisses John was pressing to his neck, "Begging? Is that truly all you want?" Sherlock groaned as John pressed the head of his cock into his body. "I'll beg right now. Anything you want, John."

"This from the man who said he's never begged for anything in his life," John teased.

"That was ages ago," Sherlock said, arching his back as John pressed in further, "Mhmm, yes," he groaned, his fingers digging into John's hip. "I still wouldn't beg for shit from her," he said petulantly.

John groaned and rubbed his nose against the other man's neck, "That's right," he affirmed, a feeling of possessiveness washing through his body at the thought that he got Sherlock in a way no one else did.

"I never wanted anything from her," Sherlock whispered as though he could read John's mind. 

"Really?" John murmured, pressing in further.

"Yes," Sherlock said with an impatient huff. "Irene and I never had anything between us. She's a worthy nemesis, I might even call her a friend, we get together for dinner every so often, she complains about Jenny or whatever her name is-"

"Kate," John inserted.

"Right, she complains about Kate, I complain about you, we split the bill and go home. The end."

"Seriously?" John asked, thinking of all the time he'd spent being jealous of all of the women in Sherlock's life.

Sherlock groaned in agitation. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. I'm a demisexual, John. I thought I couldn't experience sexual attraction until you."

"Only me?" John asked again, and he knew it sounded stupid, but he just couldn't help himself. It was almost too much for him to bear, the thought that this incredible man had only ever loved him, only ever wanted him.

"Yes," Sherlock said with a long-suffering sigh. "You are such an idiot."

"Yes," John agreed, pressing his cock the entire way in finally, "But I'm your idiot."

Sherlock laughed and twisted his neck around awkwardly, searching for John's lips. "Yes you are. Now, my darling idiot, please fuck me."

John pulled back before sliding in again, "I have a soft spot for curse words coming out of your mouth." John rolled his hips moaning at how good it felt, "That Public school lilt, the way you enunciate them." John nibbled on Sherlock's neck.

"John if I'd known you had-" he broke off to moan, "Ohh, yes," he gasped as he circled his hips on John's cock. "Mmh, if I'd know you had such an affinity for my voice, or my cursing, I would have employed those tactics long ago."

John chuckled, "My darling, if you think I haven't wanted to kiss that plush mouth, or run my fingers through your curls, or press myself into this hot, tight body a thousand times over just because of the sound of your voice without you actively attempting to seduce me, you're completely wrong."

John lifted Sherlock's thigh higher so he could slide in more tightly against the other man, then he continued, "Sometimes when you talk, when you're rattling off deductions or mouthing off to Lestrade or Mycroft, I just want to pin you to the nearest surface and kiss you until you're breathless. Sometimes when your laughing and you head tilts back, it's all I can do not to nibble and suck at that exposed flesh, not to slide my lips over yours and taste your joy."

He pressed his lips to Sherlock's neck and Sherlock let out a soft puff of breath, arching into John's touch. "Sometimes," John continued, his voice low, "When your voice is soft, when you're talking to Rosie and think I can't hear you, it's all I can do not to wrap my arms around you, to bury my lips in your skin and kiss you. It's all I can do not to hold you and never let go."

Sherlock drew John's arm tighter around his chest, "Never let me go," he pleaded, leaning down to brush his lips over John's forearm.

"I won't," John promised, his hips pressing a bit faster, "I promise."

"John?" Sherlock murmured through a whimper.

"Yes, love?"

"I want to be able to see you," Sherlock said softly.

"Alright," John murmured against his shoulder, pressing tight against Sherlock's body for one more moment before drawing away.

Sherlock whined at him and John laughed, "It's your own fault, dear one."

John moved and Sherlock flopped onto his back, he leaned over, brushed the curls back from Sherlock's face and pressed their lips together, "I love you."

Sherlock smiled sweetly up at him, "I love you too."

John sat up and moved so he was sitting with his back pressed against the headboard, squirming until he was comfortable.

"John," Sherlock groaned in exasperation. "What are you doing?"

"Just come here," John said simply, tugging Sherlock until he was sitting up. "Straddle my lap," he murmured as he guided Sherlock's legs to spread around him. "That's it," John murmured, stroking Sherlock's spine.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck and leaned in to kiss him.

"Good," John praised against his lips. "Now wrap your legs around my hips," he instructed.

"What? How?" Sherlock asked.

"Just like sitting cross-legged, only in my lap," John said with a grin.

Sherlock blushed and started to protest, but John's hand had slipped down to grasp his cock so he could tease along Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock's head dropped back and he moaned, trying to sink down on John's cock.

John gave his arse a playful swat, "That's not what I told you to do."

"Is this the way it's always going to be?" Sherlock whinged even as he started to move gingerly.

John smirked up at him, "You can't fool me," John murmured pressing his lips against Sherlock's long neck. "You love it when I order people about. Including you."

Sherlock looked down at John, affronted, "No, I don't," he said, even as he finished wrapping his right leg around John's hips.

"Both legs," John instructed, and he positioned his cock so that as Sherlock wrapped his left leg around he sunk down on John's member.

Sherlock let out a strangled, gurgling sort of groan and his arms clenched tighter around John's neck.

"You do," John murmured, stroking his fingers up and down Sherlock's spine and rolling his hips lazily. "I've seen the way you look at me when I'm ordering people about and that's ninety percent of the reason I thought you were attracted to Irene."

"You honestly think I'm a submissive? You see me with people, John," Sherlock said.

"I don't think you're a submissive," John said as he threaded his fingers through Sherlock's hair and gave it a gentle tug. "I know you are," he said, his words cocky and sure. "You want me to take care of you, we both know it. You can't imagine how amazing it will feel when you just give up control." John nipped at his chin. "You may command the world around you outside of our flat, but in here, all you really want is for me to take control of everything, even if admitting that is hard for you." John ran his hands over Sherlock's rib cage.

Sherlock looked like he might have responded, but John stretched up and took his lips in a possessive sort of kiss, kissing Sherlock thoroughly, his hands threading through his curls to hold him in place. With a tug, he pulled Sherlock's head back exposing the long column of Sherlock's neck, he mouthed along the porcelain flesh, sucking again over the bruise he'd left there. "You're exquisite," he said with a groan.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's slender frame and lifted him off his cock before letting him sink back down again. "Oh!" Sherlock groaned, "John, please." John set up a steady rhythm rocking in and out of Sherlock's body as he lifted him and drew him back down on his cock.

Sherlock's head dropped back and he let out a wanton moan, his thighs clenching around John's waist even tighter. "Yes," he begged then his mouth was back on John's pressing against his sloppily. Sherlock moaned into John's mouth before trailing sloppy wet kisses along his cheek. Then Sherlock tucked his head into the crook of John's shoulder and pressed their sweat slicked bodies together. He let out soft whimpering moans against John's skin and his fingers clenched in John's shoulders.

They kept on like this until Sherlock was writhing in John's lap, and both of their bodies were trembling from the exertion. "You are so beautiful," John said, leaning in and kissing and nibbling at Sherlock's shoulder, his hands in constant motion on the other man's skin, mapping him out, finding sensitive place. "I love the way you feel in my arms."

Sherlock leaned back from where his face had been buried in John's neck, he looked positively debouched, his hair in all sorts of disarray, lips swollen and red, cheeks flush. He searched John's eyes for a moment before pressing their foreheads together. He took a shuddering breath, "It's not enough," he said as he clenched his eyes shut.

"I know, sweetheart," John said, tilting his head so he could brush his nose against Sherlock's. "I just love holding you close like this and I want to make love to you endlessly."

Sherlock nodded and his fingers twisted in John's hair, "Can I have more now?"

John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's lips, "Yes, darling." With a not insignificant amount of effort, John slid one arm under Sherlock's thighs and wrapped one around his back as he rocked forward onto his knees. Sherlock's legs and arms clenched tighter around John and he gave a slightly disbelieving, but pleased giggle. John held him there for just a moment, because he could and Sherlock's cock twitched against him. Then he lowered the two of them onto the bed, covering Sherlock's body with his own.

"That was.." Sherlock trailed off, looking up at John under his eyelashes.

"Sexy?" John supplied with a lascivious grin.

"I was going to say arousing, but yes," Sherlock murmured as his hands skated up John's back. "No one realizes how strong you are under those hideous jumpers."

John laughed and kissed Sherlock's lips before sitting up. He knelt and grasped Sherlock's hips, elevating them and settling his arse tighter into the cradle of his pelvis.  

Sherlock's arms stretched above his head and he arched his back, his nipples had pulled taut and firm and his cock was dripping precome all across his flat belly. It took all of John's self control not to lean over and tease his nipples and lap up the precome pooling on his stomach. Instead he grasped Sherlock's hips more tightly in his fingers and drew Sherlock's body off his cock then drove himself back in again.

"Ohhh," Sherlock moaned, his head tilting back and a flush spreading down his neck. "John," he whimpered. "That feels _so_ good."

"Good," he said as he rocked into Sherlock's body again. He continued, rolling his hips into Sherlock's body over and over. Sherlock squirmed and tried to press back against John's cock, his breath escaping his lungs in harsh pants, that same hnngh sound escaping his mouth. 

"The noises you make," John grunted, his blood feeling like it was on fire in his veins. His hips snapped a bit harder and faster in spite of himself. "So fucking hot."

"John," Sherlock moaned,"Kiss me." He looked up at John under heavy lidded eyes, "Please."

And even though it meant completely changing their position again, even though it meant it was going to be harder to hit Sherlock's prostate, John couldn't deny him. He grasped the backs of Sherlock's knees, "You're flexible, right?"

Sherlock's brow scrunched in confusion, "Yes?"

John rose up on his knees and bent Sherlock's body in half, pressing his knees back until they almost touched his chest. 

"Oh," Sherlock moaned, angling his hips up. His fingers reached for John's face as John leaned in and kissed him.

John started to rock in and out of Sherlock again, rolling his hips. "Sherlock, put your legs over my shoulders," John instructed as his hands guided Sherlock's calves up further.

Sherlock let out a choked moan and he obeyed, his entire body shaking with the effort.

"Good," John praised, once they'd managed it. Then John started rocking quicker, angling his hips until Sherlock wailed. 

"There!" Sherlock gasped, "John, please, please don't stop," he begged. "Don't stop."

John shook his head and pressed their lips together, "I couldn't if I wanted to." He pounded into Sherlock's body and Sherlock's cries grew louder and less articulate by the minute.

Then Sherlock's eyes snapped open and John thought he looked panicked, their eyes met and Sherlock gasped out John's name and his body shuddered under him. His hole clenched around John's cock like a vice and Sherlock's mouth fell open in a silent scream. His cock flooded the space between their bodies, covering their stomachs and chests in come.

John followed Sherlock over the edge, groaning into Sherlock's mouth as he came. 

He barely had the pressence of mind to unhook Sherlock's legs from over his shoulders before he collapsed on top of the other man with a groan. He buried his face in Sherlock's neck and they clung to one another as their heart rates dropped back to normal and their breathing stabilized. With a sigh, John rolled onto his side, slipping out of Sherlock's body and ignoring his grunt of displeasure. "Sorry," he said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He tied off the condom and tossed it in the trash. John stroked Sherlock's curls back off his face and Sherlock rolled onto his side, "I love you," John said.

Sherlock gave him a soft, happy smile "I love you, too," he said as he wound his arms around John's torso and tangled their legs together.

John stroked his fingers up and down Sherlock's back, brushing over the scars he could feel raising the skin of the other man's back.

"Do they bother you?" Sherlock asked softly, reading God only knew what in John's expression and touches.

"Only in that I can't fathom how you got them," John replied carefully, treading as lightly as he could since he wasn't sure how sensitive Sherlock might feel about them. "It bothers me to imagine someone hurting you this way."

Sherlock's eyes drifted closed and he leaned their foreheads together. He was quiet for a long moment, long enough that John thought he might say nothing about them, but then he started to speak. His voice was soft and carefully neutral, "I was almost through dismantling Moriarty's web," he said. "I was on the last leg of my mission and I'd been gone for so long. I missed home, I missed you; at the time I'd been under the foolish impression that I'd come back to everything just as it had been before the fall." He let out a shuddering sigh, "I just wanted to come home. I got sloppy and I got caught."

John felt Sherlock's body quiver under his hands and drew him closer, brushing a kiss over his cheek and trying to comfort him with his pressence.

"They caught me and they beat me, kept me awake and strung up for days." Sherlock shook his head, "Mycroft came eventually to retrieve me, after I'd missed a few check ins." Sherlock blew out a breath, "Then I came home and I learned what hell really was."

"I'm sorry," John said, his throat tight, knowing he'd been the cause of so much hurt and heart ache.

"No," Sherlock said firmly, opening his eyes and drawing back far enough that they could really look at each other. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. I did this to us, I put us through all of that. You thought I was dead for two years and I hadn't thought-" he broke off, "I didn't know what it would do to you until I came back." He shook his head, "The first time I saw you, I couldn't breathe. I've rarely wished I could turn my mind off, but when I saw you-" he broke off and looked away. "The agony, the pain I'd put you through, it was more than I could bear. I'm so sorry. I was horrible to you, I didn't know, I didn't think-"

John pressed his lips to Sherlock's to stem the flood of words. "We've been horrible to each other," John replied softly. "Some of the things I've done," it was John's turn to look away in shame. "They don't bear thinking about," he said, "I can hardly find the words." He swallowed, "But Sherlock, they haunt me."

"Stop," Sherlock said softly, "Don't waste another moment thinking of them, I forgave you. For everything."

"I forgave you, too," John whispered. 

"Then let's move on," Sherlock said. "Let's just stop torturing ourselves. Let's keep the good things and leave the bad; stop beating ourselves."

"I'd like that," John said earnestly.

"Me too."

They were silent for a long while after that, simply holding each other and stroking soft hands along the other's flesh, gentle kisses pressed to cheeks and noses and foreheads. Neither of them mentioned the other's tears.

Finally, John found that his skin had started to stretch and itch so badly that he couldn't stand it, "Let's go take a shower."

"Together?" Sherlock asked, his nose wrinkling adorably.

"We're both a mess and frankly, I'm not ready to stop touching you yet."

Sherlock grinned at him and nodded.

They tripped over one another on the way to the bathroom, limbs tangling at their refusal to put a reasonable distance between their bodies. Sherlock managed to reach the door first and turned the water on before turning himself in the loop of John's arms. He bit his lip and looked at John a bit shyly.

"What?" John asked with a chuckle.

"Would you kiss me again?" 

John didn't even bother answering him with words, he just leaned in and kissed Sherlock, long, and slow, and sweet. He kissed him until Sherlock had all but melted into a puddle of goo in his arms and his grin had stretched so wide that kissing was hard. 

"Yes," John said as he drew back, "Always. Anytime you want me to for the rest of our lives."

Sherlock smiled, "Be careful with proclamations like that, Dr. Watson."

John laughed, "It's not like I'm not offering to suck you off anytime you want, an innocent kiss won't hurt anyone. I can't imagine there being a place I wouldn't want to kiss you."

Sherlock's eyes glinted with the challenge and John couldn't help but laugh as he ushered Sherlock into the shower. Even climbing inside the shower at 221B caused a wave of nostalgia, it had been forever since he'd showered here and it brought him back to a simpler time in their lives. He slid his arms around Sherlock's waist and drew their bodies together, rocking and swaying their bodies together almost like they were dancing.

Sherlock smiled and looped his arms around John's neck, his long fingers slid up into John's hair at the base of his neck. 

John sighed contentedly and let his lips trace the rivulets of water sliding down Sherlock's neck. "I didn't know it was possible to feel this in love with someone."

"I didn't know it was possible to feel this happy," Sherlock murmured back. Then after a pause, "We're going to be one of those digustingly soppy couples, aren't we?" 

"Oh yes," John said, leaning back to look at him with a grin. "I can't imagine us being anything less."

They washed each other then, exploring and memorizing each other's bodies all over again. Laughing and murmuring to one another as they did about nothing in particular, just wanting to hear the other's voice and be reassured that this was all real. 

They'd climbed out of the shower and John cleared his throat, deciding to broach the subject of living together. "So," he said, trying to keep his tone light, "Can Rosie and I move back in?"

Sherlock grinned and tugged John's towel to pull their bodies together, "Just try and stay away."

"I don't know how you've repurposed the room upstairs, but we'll have to turn it into a nursery," John said, brushing his lips over Sherlock's. "Rosie and I will have to stay at the old house until then, will the time it takes to finish that room be enough time for you to be ready for us to come?"

"John, move in now," Sherlock said with a laugh. "I've replaced all of the furniture in the flat with baby friendly furniture, all rounded edges and safety locks on the cupboards.  I want you here. I always want you here." He tugged John into the bedroom and said, "Get dressed, I want to show you something." 

John borrowed a tshirt from Sherlock and slipped into a pair of his pajamas. Sherlock laughed at him good naturedly as John cuffed the bottoms. "Come on," Sherlock said, offering John a hand once they were both dressed and leading him to the stairs and up to his old room.

"Don't be mad," Sherlock said softly, sounding legitimately nervous. "It's just Rosie stays here quite a lot, and as much as I didn't want it to happen, I'd imagined you'd find yourself another insipid girlfriend-"

He pushed the door open and John's breath caught and he stopped hearing whatever words were coming out of Sherlock's mouth. The room looked nothing like it had when it had belonged to John. The walls had been repainted a warm yellow with bumblebees along the border. There was a crib set up in one corner with a bee mobile hanging over it, a changing table set up against the opposite wall, and a rocking chair set up in the corner furthest from the door. There was a bookshelf brimming with toys and books under the window, some of which showed signs of obviously use and John wondered if they'd belonged to Sherlock.

Sherlock cleared his throat, "Please don't be upset, I just wanted her to be able to stay here instead of with Molly if you ever wanted that. She's my goddaughter, too," he said a bit defensively. "And I wanted her to have her own space when she got a little older-"

"She's not your goddaughter," John said, turning to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes fell, "John-" he started.

John cut him off, "Adopt her," he said softly.

Sherlock stared at him blankly.

"Adopt her," John said again. "Raise her with me; if we move in you will be and practically were before this anyway." John stared at Sherlock hopefully, but when no words or reaction was forthcoming, John started to backpedal, "Unless that's not what you want," he said quickly. 

At those words, Sherlock blinked, then his hands were cupping John's face to press their lips together. "Really?" Sherlock asked against John's lips. 

"Yes," John said. "Yes."

Sherlock laughed a little wetly, "This day can't be real," he said wonderingly.

"It is," John assured. 

"We can redo the room, if you want-"

"It's perfect," John said fiercely. "This room is perfect." He laughed, "You're perfect."

Sherlock cleared his throat, "So, will you move in today?"

"Yes," John said, a knot unwinding in his chest knowing he'd never have to leave his home again.


End file.
